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A New Novel by the Atjthoh op 

" Donovan,” “ Knight-Errant,” “ We Two,” “ In the Golden Days,” etc. 


READY IN THE APRIL NUMBER OP 

■JT?e)'leu/YorK pasfyioi? Bazar 

A NEW STORY, ENTITLED 

_ 4k HARDY NORSEMAN.” 

By Edna Lyall, 

Author of “Donovan” “ Knight-Errant ,” “In the Golden Days etc. 


“A Hardy Norseman” is a fresh and picturesque novel of Norwegian 
life and scenery, the fruit of a delightful summer vacation passed in Norway 
and Sweden by the author. Nothing more interesting for fireside reading 
could be well imaged than this tale of northern scenes under a summer sun. 
Edna Lyall (Miss Bayley) is one of the best of the new novelists. Her por- 
trait will appear in the May number of the Fashion Bazar. 

Among the new novels in the Fashion Bazar are 

“MY HEAET’S DAELIYG” 

(HERZENSKRISEN). 

Translated from the German of W. Heimburg, 

AND 

“ THE REPROACH OF ANNESLEY .” 

BY MAXWELL GRAY, 

Author of “The Silence of Dean Maitland,” etc. 


“ The Silence of Dean Maitland,” published in The Seaside Library, 
has proved one of the most popular novels of the past year. Next to “ Robert 
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author will be eagerly read. 


INTERESTING ARTICLES ON DOMESTIC AND HOUSEHOLD AFFAIRS, 
MANNERS, AND FASHIONS, BY MRS. MARY E. BRYAN, MRS. 

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, MRS. N. S. STOWELL, 

AND OTHERS. 

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THE NEW YORK FASHION BAZAR is for sale by all newsdealers. It will also 
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GEORGE M13NRO, Munro’s Publishing: House, 

(P. O. Box 3751.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York* 


MUNRO'S PUBLICATIONS, 


The New York Fashion Bazar Booh of the Toilet 

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CP. O. Box 8751.) 


DERRICK pGHJ-fVELIST. 


BY 



It is only through deep sympathy that a man can become a great artist.— 
Lewes’s Life of Goethe. 

Sympathy is feeling related to an object, whilst sentiment is the same 
feeling seeking itself alone.— Arnold Toynbee. 


♦ 


NEW YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 to 27 Vandewater Street. 


EDNA LYALL’S WORKS 


CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 


NO. 

738 In the Golden Days. 

1147 Knight-Errant. 

1149 Donovan: A Modern En- 
glishman. 

1160 We Two. 


NO. 

1173 Won by Waiting. 

1196 A Hardy Horseman. 

1197 The Autobiography of a 

Slander. 

1206 Derrick Vaughan— Novelist 


TO MY DEAR FRIEND 
MARY DAVIES 
[Chief Songstress of Wales], 
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK. 



DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


CHAPTER 1. 

Nothing fills a child’s mind like a large old mansion; better if 
un- or partially occupied; people with the spirits of deceased mem- 
bers of the county and Justices of the Quorum. Would I were 
buried in the peopled solitude of one, with my feelings at seven 
years old! — From Letters 0/ Charles Lamb. 

To attempt a formal biography of Derrick Vaughan 
would be out of the question, even though he and I have 
been more or less thrown together since we were both in 
the nursery. But I have an odd sort of wish to note down 
roughly just a few of my recollections of him, and to show 
how his fortunes gradually developed, being perhaps 
stimulated to make the attempt by certain irritating re- 
marks which one overhears now often enough at clubs or 
in drawing-rooms, or indeed wherever one goes. “ Der- 
rick Vaughan,” say these authorities of the world of 
small-talk, with that delightful air of omniscience which 
invariably characterizes them, “ why, he simply leaped 
into fame. He is one of the favorites of fortune. Like 
Byron, he woke one morning and found himself famous. ” 

Now this sounds well enough, but it is a long way from 
the truth, and I— Sydney Wharncliffe, of the Inner Tem- 
ple, Barrister-at-law — desire while the past few years are 


8 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


fresh in my mind to write a true version of my friend's 
career. 

Every one knows his face. Has it not appeared in 
64 Noted Men/' and — gradually deteriorating according to 
the price of the paper and the quality of the engraving — in 
many another illustrated journal? Yet somehow these 
works of art don't satisfy me, and, as I write, I see before 
me something very different from the latest photograph by 
Messrs. Paul & Reynard. 

I see a large-featured, , broad-browed English face, a 
trifle heavy looking when in repose, yet a thorough, hon- 
est, manly face, with a complexion neither dark nor fair, 
with brown hair and mustache, and with light hazel eyes 
that look out on the world quietly enough. You might 
talk to him for long in an ordinary way and never suspect 
that he was a genius; but when you have him to yourself, 
when some consciousness of sympathy roused him, he all 
at once becomes a different being. His quiet eyes kindle, 
his face becomes full of life — you wonder that you ever 
thought it heavy or commonplace. Then the world inter- 
rupts in some way, and, just as a hermit-crab draws down 
its shell with a comically rapid movement, so Derrick sud- 
denly retires into himself. 

Thus much for his outer man. 

For the rest, there are of course the neat little accounts 
of his birth, his parentage, his education, etc., etc., pub- 
lished with the list of his works in due order, with the en- 
gravings in the illustrated papers. But these tell little of 
the real life of the man. 

Carlyle, in one of his finest passages, says that 44 A true 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


9 


delineation of the smallest man and his scene of pilgrimage 
through life is capable of interesting the greatest men; that 
all men are to an unspeakable degree brothers, each man's 
life a strange emblem of every man's; and that human 
portraits faithfully drawn are of all pictures the welcomest 
on human walls." And though I don't profess to give a 
portrait, but merely a sketch, 1 will endeavor to sketch 
faithfully, and possibly in the future my work may fall 
into the hands of some of those worthy people who imagine 
that my friend leaped into fame at a bound, or of those 
comfortable mortals who seem to think that a novel is 
turned out as easily as water from a tap. 

There is, however, one thing I can never do: I am quite 
unable to put into words my friend's intensely strong feel- 
ing with regard to the sacredness of his profession. It 
seemed to me not unlike the feeling of Isaiah when, in the 
vision, his mouth had been touched with the celestial fire. 
And I can only hope that something of this may be read 
between my very inadequate lines. 

Looking back, I fancy Derrick must have been a clever 
child. But he was not precocious, and in some respects 
was even decidedly backward. 

1 can see him now — it is my first clear recollection of 
him — leaning back in the corner of my father's carriage 
as we drove from the Newmarket Station to our summer 
home at Mondisfield. He and I were small boys of eight, 
and Derrick had been invited for the holidays, while his 
twin brother — if I remember right — indulged in typhoid 
fever at Kensington. He was shy and silent, and the ice 
was not broken until we passed Silvery Steeple. 


10 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


“That,” said my father, “ is a ruined church; it was 
destroyed by Cromwell in the Civil Wars.” 

In an instant the small quiet boy sitting beside me was 
transformed. His eyes shone; he sprung forward and 
thrust his head far out of the window, gazing at the old 
ivy-covered tower as long as it remained in sight. 

“Was Cromwell really once there?” he asked with 
breathless interest. 

“ So they say,” replied my father, looking with an 
amused smile at the face of the questioner, in which eager- 
ness, delight, and reverence were mingled. “ Are you an 
admirer of the Lord Protector?” 

“ He is my greatest hero of all,” said Derrick, fervent- 
ly. “ Do you think — oh, do you think he possibly can 
ever have come to Mondisfield?” 

My father thought not, but said there was an old tradi- 
tion that the hall had been attacked by the Royalists, and 
the bridge over the moat defended by the owner of the 
house; but he had no great belief in the story, for which, 
indeed, there seemed no avidence. 

Derrick's eyes during this conversation were something 
wonderful to see, and long after, when we were not actu- 
ally playing at anything, I used often to notice the same 
expression stealing over him, and would cry out, “ There 
is the man defending the bridge again; 1 can see him in 
your eyes! Tell me what happened to him next!” 

Then, generally pacing to and fro in the apple walk, or 
sitting astride the bridge itself. Derrick would tell me of 
the adventures of my ancestor, Paul Wharncliffe, who per- 
formed incredible feats of valor, and who was to both of 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


11 


us a most real person. On wet days he wrote his story in 
a copy-book, and would have worked at it for hours had 
my mother allowed him, though of the manual part of the 
work he had, and has always retained, the greatest dislike. 
I remember well the comical ending of this first story of 
his. He skipped over an interval of ten years, represent- 
ed on the page by ten laboriously made stars, and did for 
his hero in the following lines: 

“ Andmow, reader, let us come into Mondisfield Church- 
yard. There are three tomb-stones. On one is written, 
4 Mr. Paul Wharncliffe. ’ ” 

The story was no better than the productions of most 
eight-year-old children, the written story at least. But 
curiously enough it proved to be the germ of the celebrated 
romance “ At Strife,” which Derrick wrote in after-years; 
and he himself maintains that his picture of life during the 
Civil War would have been much less graphic had he not 
lived so much in the past during his various visits to Mon- 
disfield. 

It was at his second visit, when we were nine, that I re- 
member his announcing his intention of being an author 
when he was grown up. My mother still delights in tell- 
ing the story. She was sitting at work in the south parlor 
one day, when I dashed into the room calling out: 

44 Derrick’s head is stuck between the balusters in the 
gallery; come quick, mother, come quick!” 

She ran up the little winding staircase, and there, sure 
enough, in the musician’s gallery, was poor Derrick, his 
manuscript and pen on the floor and his head in durance 
vile. 


12 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


44 You silly boy!” said my mother, a little frightened 
when she found that to get the head back was no easy 
matter. 44 What made you put it through?” 

44 You look like King Charles at Carisbrooke,” 1 cried, 
forgetting how much Derrick would resent the speech. 

And being released at that moment he took me by the 
shoulders and gave me an angry shake or two, as he said, 
vehemently, 44 I’m not like King Charles! King Charles 
was a liar.” 

I saw my mother smile as she separated us. 

44 Come, boys, don’t quarrel,” she said. 44 And Derrick 
will tell me the truth, for indeed I am curious to know 
why he thrust his head in such a place.” 

44 1 wanted to make sure,” said Derrick, 44 whether Paul 
Wharncliffe could see Lady Lettice when she took the 
falcon on her wrist below in the passage. 1 mustn’t say 
he saw her if it’s impossible, you know. Authors have to 
be quite true in little things, and I mean to be an author.” 

44 But,” said my mother, laughing at the great earnest- 
ness of the hazel eyes, 44 could not your hero look over the 
top of the rail?” 

44 Well, yes,” said Derrick. 44 He would have done 
that, but you see it’s so dreadfully high, and I couldn’t 
get up. But I tell you what, Mrs. Wharncliffe, if it 
wouldn’t be giving you a great deal of trouble — I’m sorry 
you were troubled to get my head back again — but if you 
would just look over, since you are so tall, and I’ll run 
down and act Lady Lettice.” 

44 Why couldn’t Paul go down-stairs and look at the 
lady in comfort?” asked my mother. 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


13 


Derrick mused a little. 

“ He might look at her through a crack in the door at 
the foot of the stairs, perhaps, but that would seem mean, 
somehow. It would be a pity, too, not to use the gallery; 
galleries are uncommon, you see, and you can get cracked 
doors anywhere. And, you know, he was obliged to look 
at her when she couldn’t see him, because their fathers 
were on different sides in the war, and dreadful enemies.” 

When school-days came, matters went on much in the 
same way; there was always an abominably scribbled tale 
stowed away in Derrick’s desk, and he worked infinitely 
harder than I did, because there was always before him 
this determination to be an author and to prepare himself 
for the life. But he wrote merely from love of it, and 
with no idea of publication until the beginning of our last 
year at Oxford, when, having reached the ripe age of one- 
and-twenty, he determined to delay no longer but to 
plunge boldly into his first novel. 

He was seldom able to get more than six or eight hours 
a week for it, because he was reading rather hard, so that 
the novel progressed but slowly. Finally, to my astonish- 
ment, it came to a dead stand-still. 

1 have never made out exactly what was wrong with 
Derrick then, though I know that he passed through a ter- 
rible time of doubt and despair. I spent part of the Long 
with him down at Ventnor, where his mother had been 
ordered for her health. She was devoted to Derrick, and, 
as far as I can understand, he was her chief comfort in 
life. Major Vaughan, the husband, had been out in India 
for years; the only daughter was married to a rich manu- 


14 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


facturer at Birmingham, who had a constitutional dislike 
to mothers-in-law, and as far as possible eschewed their 
company; while Lawrence, Derrick's twin brother, was 
forever getting into scrapes, and was into the bargain the 
most unblushingly selfish fellow 1 ever had the pleasure of 
meeting. 

“ Sydney," said Mrs. Vaughan to me one afternoon 
when we were in the garden, ‘ ‘ Derrick seems to me unlike 
himself; there is a division between us which I never felt 
before. Can you tell me what is troubling him?" 

She was not at all a good-looking woman, but she had a 
very sweet, wistful face, and I never looked at her sad eye« 
without feeling ready to go through fire and water for her. 
I tried now to make light of Derrick's depression. 

“ He is only going through what we all of us go 
through," 1 said, assuming a cheerful tone. “ He has 
suddenly discovered that life is a great riddle, and that the 
things he has accepted in blind faith are, after all, not so 
sure." 

She sighed. 

“ Do all go through it?" she said, thoughtfully. “ And 
how many, I wonder, get beyond?" 

“ Pew enough," I replied, moodily. Then, remember- 
ing my role — “ But Derrick will get through; he has a 
thousand things to help him which others have not — you, 
for instance. And then 1 fancy he has a sort of insight 
which most of us are without." 

“ Possibly," she said. “ As for me, it is little that I 
can do for him. Perhaps you are right, and it is true that 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


16 


once in a life at any rate we all have to go into the wilder- 
ness alone. ” 

That was the last summer I ever saw Derrick’s mother; 
she took a chill the following Christmas and died after a 
few days’ illness. But I have always thought her death 
helped Derrick in a way that her life might have failed to 
do. For although he never, I fancy, quite recovered from 
the blow, and to this day can not speak of her without 
tears in his eyes, yet when he came back to Oxford he 
seemed to have found the answer to the riddle, and though 
older, sadder and graver than before, had quite lost the 
restless dissatisfaction that for some time had clouded his 
life. In a few months, moreover, I noticed a fresh sign 
that he was out of the wood. Coming into his rooms one 
day I found him sitting in the cushioned window-seat, 
reading over and correcting some sheets of blue foolscap. 

“ At it again?” I asked. 

He nodded. 

“ I mean to finish the first volume here. For the rest I 
must be in London.” 

“ Why?” 1 asked, a little curious as to this unknown 
art of novel-making. 

“Because,” he replied, “one must be in the heart of 
things to understand how Lynwood was affected by them.” 

“ Lynwood! I believe you are always thinking of him!” 
(Lynwood was the hero of his novel.) 

“ Well, so I am, nearly — so I must be, if the book is to 
be any good.” 

“ Read me what you have written,” I said, throwing 


16 


DEBRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


myself back in a rickety but tolerably comfortable arm- 
chair which Derrick had inherited with the rooms. 

He hesitated a moment, being always very diffident 
about his own work; but presently, having provided me 
with a cigar and made a good deal of unnecessary work in 
arranging the sheets of the manuscript, he began to read 
aloud, rather nervously, the opening chapters of the book 
now so well-known under the title of 44 Lynwood’s Herit- 
age.” 

I had heard nothing of his for the last four years, and 
was amazed at the gigantic stride he had made in the in- 
terval. For, spite of a certain crudeness, the story seemed 
to me a most powerful story; it rushed straight to the 
point with no wavering, no beating about the bush; it 
flung itself into the problems of the day with a sort of sub- 
lime audacity; it took hold of one; it whirled one along 
with its own inherent force, and drew forth both laughter 
and tears, for Derrick’s power of pathos had always been 
his strongest point. 

All at once he stopped reading. 

“ Go on!” 1 cried, impatiently. 

“ That is all,” he said, gathering the sheets together. 

“ You stopped in the middle of a sentence!” I cried in 
exasperation. 

46 Yes,” he said, quietly, “ for six months.” 

“ You provoking fellow! why, I wonder?” 

“ Because 1 didn’t know the end.” 

“ Good heavens! And do you know it now?” 

He looked me full in the face, and there was an expres- 
sion in his eyes which puzzled me. 


DERRICK YAUGHAK— NOVELIST. 


17 


“ I believe I do ,” he said; and, getting up, he crossed 
the room, put the manuscript away in a drawer, and re- 
turning, sat down in the window-seat again, looking out 
on the narrow, paved street below, and at the gray build- 
ings opposite. 

I knew very well that he would never ask me what I 
thought of the story — that was not his way. 

“ Derrick!” 1 exclaimed, watching his impassive face, 
“ I believe, after all, you are a genius.” 

I hardly know why 1 said “ after all,” but till that mo- 
ment it had never struck me that Derrick was particularly 
gifted. He had so far got through his Oxford career 
creditably, but then he had worked hard; his talents were 
not of a showy order. I had never expected that he would 
set the Thames on fire. Even now it seemed to me that 
he was too dreamy, too quiet, too devoid of the pushing 
faculty to succeed in the world. 

My remark made him laugh incredulously. 

“ Define a genius,” he said. 

For anwer I pulled down his beloved Imperial Dictionary 
and read him the following quotation from De Quincey: 
“ Genius is that mode of intellectual power which moves in 
alliance with the genial nature; i.e. with the capacities of 
pleasure and pain; whereas talent has no vestige of such 
an alliance, and is perfectly independent of all human 
sensibilities.” 

“ Let me think! You can certainly enjoy things a hun- 
dred times more than 1 can — and as for suffering, why you 
were always a great hand at that. Now listen to the great 
Doctor Johnson and see if the cap fits. 4 The true genius 


18 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


is a mind of large general powers accidentally determined 
in some particular direction. 5 

44 4 Large general powers !’ — yes* 1 believe, after all, you 
have them with — alas, poor Derrick! one notable exception 
— the mathematical faculty. You were always bad at 
figures. We will stick to De Quincey’s definition, and for 
Heaven’s sake, my dear fellow, do get Lynwood out of 
that awful plight! No wonder you were depressed when 
you lived all this age with such a sentence unfinished!” 

44 For the matter of that,” said Derrick,” he can’t get 
out till the end of the book; but I can begin to go on 
with him now.” 

44 And when you leave Oxford?” 

44 Then I mean to settle down in London — to write 
leisurely — and possibly to read for the Bar.” 

44 We might be together,” 1 suggested. And Derrick 
took to this idea, being a man who detested solitude and 
crowds about equally. Since his mother’s death, he had 
been very much alone in the world. To Lawrence he was 
always loyal, but the two had nothing in common, and 
though fond of his sister he could not get on at all with 
the manufacturer, his brother-in-law. But this prospect 
of life together in London pleased him amazingly; he be- 
gan to recover his spirits to a great extent and to look 
much more like himself. 

It must have been just as he had taken his degree that 
he received a telegram to announce that Major Yaughan 
had been invalided home, and would arrive at Southamp- 
ton in three weeks’ time. Derrick knew very little of his 
father, but apparently Mrs. Vaughan had done her best to 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


19 


keep up a sort of memory of his childish days at Aider- 
shot, and in these the part that his father played was al- 
ways pleasant. So he looked forward to the meeting not a 
little, while I from the first had my doubts as to the 
felicity it was likely to bring him. 

However, it was ordained that before the majors ship 
arrived, his son's whole life should change; even Lynwood 
was thrust into the background. As for me, I was no- 
where, for Derrick, the quiet, the self-contained, had 
fallen passionately in love with a certain Freda Merrifield. 


CHAPTER II. 

Infancy? What if the rose-streak of morning 
Pale and depart in a passion of tears? 

Once to have hoped is no matter for scorning: 

Love once: e’en love’s disappointment endears, 

A moment’s success pays the failure of years. 

^ R. Browning. 

The wonder would have been if he had not fallen in 
love with her, for a more fascinating girl 1 never saw. 
She had on* just returned from school at Compiegne^ and 
was not yet out; her charming freshness was unsullied— 
she had all the simplicity and straightforwardness of un- 
spoiled, unsophisticated girlhood. 1 well remember our 
first sight of her. We had been invited for a fortnight's 
yachting by Calverley of Exeter. His father. Sir John 
Calverley, had a sailing yacht, and some guests having dis- 
appointed iiim at the last minute, he gave his son carte 
Hanche as to who he should bring to fill the vacant berths. 

So we three traveled ^down to Southampton together, 


20 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


one hot summer day, and were rowed out to the ‘ 4 Au- 
rora,” an uncommonly neat little schooner which lay in 
that overrated and frequently odoriferous roadstead, 
Southampton Water. However, 1 admit that on that 
evening — the tide being high — the place looked remarka- 
bly pretty; the level rays of the setting sun turned the 
water to gold, a soft luminous haze hung over the town 
and the shipping, and by a stretch of the imagination one 
might have thought the view almost Venetian. Derricks 
perfect content was only marred by his shyness. I knew 
that he dreaded reaching the “ Aurora;” and sure enough 
as we stepped on to the exquisitely white deck and caught 
sight of the little group of guests, 1 saw him retreat into 
his crab-shell of silent reserve. Sir John, who made a 
very pleasant host, introduced us to the other visitors — 
Lord Probyn and his wife, and their niece. Miss Freda 
Merrifield. Lady Probyn was Sir John’s sister, and also 
the sister of Miss Merrifield ’s mother; so that it was al- 
most a family party, and by no means a formidable gather- 
ing. Lady Probyn played the part of hostess, and chap- 
eroned her pretty niece; but she was not in the least like 
the aunt of fiction — on the contrary, she was comparative- 
ly young in years and almost comically young in mind; 
her niece was devoted to her, and the moment I saw her I 
knew that our voyage could not possibly be dull. 

As to Miss Freda, when we first caught sight of her she 
was standing near the companion, dressed in a daintily 
made yachting costume of blue serge and white braid, and 
round her white sailor hat she bore the name of the yacht 
stamped on a white ribbon; in her waist-band she had fast- 


DERRICK VAUGHAK— X0VELIST. 


21 


ened two deep crimson roses,, and she looked at us with 
frank, girlish curiosity, no doubt wondering whether we 
should add to or detract from the enjoyment of the ex- 
pedition. She was rather tall, and there was an air of 
strength and energy about her which was most refreshing. 
Her skin was singularly white, but there was a healthy 
glow of color in her cheeks; while her large, gray eyes, 
shaded -by long lashes, were full of life and brightness. As 
to her features, they were perhaps a trifle irregular, and 
her elder sisters were supposed to eclipse her altogether; 
but to my mind she was far the most taking of the three. 

I was not in the least surprised that Derrick should fall 
head over ears in love with her; she was exactly the sort 
of girl that would infallibly attract him. Her absence of 
shyness; her straightforward, easy way of talking; her 
genuine good-heartedness; her devotion to animals — one of 
his own pet hobbies — and finally her exquisite playing 
made the result a foregone conclusion. And then, 
moreover, they were perpetually together. He would 
hang over the piano in the saloon for hours while she 
played, the rest of us lazily enjoying the easy-chairs and 
the fresh air on deck; and whenever we landed, these two 
were sure in the end to be just a little apart from the rest 
of us. 

It was an eminently successful cruise. We all liked each 
other; the sea was calm, the sunshine constant, the wind 
as a rule favorable, and 1 think I never in a single fort- 
night heard so many good stories, or had such a good 
time. We seemed to get right out of the world and its 
narrow restrictions, away from all that was hollow and 


22 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


base and depressing, only landing now and then at quaint 
little quiet places for some merry excursion on shore. 
Freda was in the highest spirits; and as to Derrick, he was 
a different creature. She seemed to have the power of 
drawing him out in a marvelous.degree, and she took the 
greatest interest in his work — a sure way to every author's 
heart. 

But it was not till one day, when we landed at Tresco, 
that I felt certain she genuinely loved him — there in one 
glance the truth flashed upon me. I was walking with 
one of the gardeners down one of the long shady paths of 
that lonely little island, with its curiously foreign look, 
when we suddenly came face to face with Derrick and 
Freda. They were talking earnestly, and I could see her 
great gray eyes as they were lifted to his — perhaps they 
were more expressive than she knew — I can not say. 
They both started a little as we confronted them, and the 
color deepened in Freda's face. The gardener, with what 
photographers usually ask for — “ just the faint beginning 
of a smile" — turned and gathered a bit of white heather 
growing near. 

“ They say it brings good luck, miss," he remarked, 
handing it to Freda. 

“ Thapk you," she said, laughing, “ I hope it will bring 
it to me. At any rate it will remind me of this beautiful 
island. Isn't it just like Paradise, Mr. Wharneliffe?" 

“ For me it is like Paradise before Eve was created," I 
replied, rather wickedly. “ By the bye, are you going to 
keep all the good luck to yourself?" 

“ I don't know," she said, laughing. “ Perhaps I shall; 


DERRICK VAUGHAK — NOVELIST. 


23 


but you have only to ask the gardener, he will gather you 
another piece directly. " 

I took good care to drop behind, having no taste for the 
third fiddle business; but I noticed when we were in the 
gig once more, rowing back to the yacht, that the white 
heather had been equally divided — one half was in the 
waistband of the blue serge dress, the other half in the 
button-hole of Derrick's blaze^ 

So the fortnight slipped by, and at length one afternoon 
we found ourselves once more in Southampton Water; then 
came the bustle of packing and the hurry of departure, 
and the merry party dispersed. Derrick and I saw them 
all ofi at the station, for, as his father's ship did not 
arrive till the following day, I made up my mind to stay 
on with him at Southampton. 

“ You will come and see us in town," said Lady Pro- 
byn, kindly. And Lord Probyn invited us both for the 
shooting at Blachington in September. 

“ We will have the same party on shore, and see if we 
can't enjoy ourselves almost as well," he said in his hearty 
way; “ the novel will go all the better for it, eh, 
Vaughan?" 

Derrick brightened visibly at the suggestion. I heard 
him talking to Freda all the time that Sir John stood 
laughing and joking as to the comparative pleasures of 
yachting and shooting. 

“ You will be there too?" Derrick asked. 

“ I can't tell," said Freda, and there was a shade of 
sadness in her tone. Her voice was deeper than most 
women's voices — a rich contralto with something striking 


24 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


and individual about it. I could hear her quite plainly; 
but Derrick spoke less distinctly — he always had a bad 
trick of mumbling. 

“ You see I am the youngest/* she said, “ and 1 am not 
really 6 out. * Perhaps my mother will wish one of the 
elder ones to go; but 1 half think they are already en- 
gaged for September, so after all I may have a chance.** 

Inaudible remark from my friend. 

“ Yes, I came here because my sisters did not care to 
leave London till the end of the season,** replied the clear 
contralto. “It has been a perfect cruise. I shall re- 
member it all my life. ** 

After that, nothing more was audible; but 1 imagine 
Derrick must have hazarded a more personal question, and 
that Freda had admitted that it was not only the actual 
sailing she should remember. At any rate her face when 
I caught sight of it again made me think of the girl de- 
scribed in the “ Biglow Papers *’ : 

“ ’Twas kin’ o’ kingdom come to look 
On sech a blessed creatur, 

A dogrose blushin’ to a brook 
Ain’t modester nor sweeter.” 

So the train went off, and Derrick and I were left to idle 
about Southampton, and kill time as best we might. Der- 
rick seemed to walk the streets in a sort of dream; he was 
perfectly well aware that he had met his fate, and at that 
time no thought of difficulties in the way had arisen either 
in his mind or in my ow r n. We were both of us young and 
inexperienced; we were both of us in love, and we had the 
usual lover*s notion that everything in heaven and earth is 
prepared to favor the course of his particular passion. 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


I remember that we soon found the town intolerable 
and, crossing by the ferry, walked over to Netley Abbey, 
and lay down idly in the shade of the old gray walls. Not 
a breath of wind stirred the great masses of ivy which were 
wreathed about the ruined church, and the place looked 
so lovely in its decay, that we felt disposed to judge the 
dissolute monks very leniently for having behaved so badly 
that their church and monastery had to be opened to the 
four winds of heaven. After all, when is a church so 
beautiful as when it has the green grass for its floor and 
the sky for its roof? 

I could show you the very spot near the East window 
where Derrick told me the whole truth, and where we 
talked over Freda's perfections and the probability of fre- 
quent meetings in London. He had listened, so often 
and so patiently to my affairs, that it seemed an odd re- 
versal to have to play the confidant; and if now and then 
my thoughts wandered off to the coming month at Mon- 
disfield, and pictured violet eyes while he talked of gray, it 
was not from any lack of sympathy with my friend. Der- 
rick was not of a self -tormenting nature, and though I 
knew he was amazed at the thought that such a girl as 
Freda could possibly care for him, yet he believed most 
implicitly that this wonderful thing had come to pass; and 
remembering her face as we had last seen it, and the look 
in her eyes at Tresco, I, too, had not a shadow of a doubt 
that she really loved him. She was not the least bit of a 
flirt, and society had not had a chance yet of molding her 
into the ordinary girl of the nineteenth century. 

Perhaps it was the sudden and unexpected change of the 


26 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


next day that makes me remember Derrick's face so dis- 
tinctly as he lay back on the smooth turf that afternoon in 
Netley Abbey. As it looked then, full of youth and hope, 
full of that dream of cloudless love, I never saw it again. 


CHAPTER 111. 

Religion in him never died, but became a habit— a habit of en- 
during hardness, and cleaving to the steadfast performance of duty 
in face of the strongest allurements to the pleasanter and easier 
course. — Life of Charles Lamb , by A. Ainger. 

Derrick was in good spirits the next day. He talked 
much of Major Vaughan, wondered whether the voyage 
home had restored his health, discussed the probable 
length of his leave, and speculated as to the nature of his 
illness; the telegram had of course given no details. 

“ There hasn't been even a photograph for the last five 
years," he remarked, as we walked down to the quay to- 
gether. “ Yet I think I should know him anywhere, if it 
is only by his height. He used to look so well on horse- 
back. 1 remember as a child seeing him in a sham fight 
charging up Caesar's Camp." 

66 How old were you when he went out?" 

“Oh, quite a small boy," replied Derrick. “It was 
just before I first stayed with you. However, he has had 
a regular succession of photographs sent out to him, and 
will know me easily enough. " 

Poor Derrick! I can't think of that day even now with- 
out a kind of mental shiver. We watched the great 
steamer as it glided up to the quay, and Derrick scanned 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


27 


the crowded deck with eager eyes, but could nowhere see 
the tall, soldierly figure that had lingered so long in his 
memory. He stood with his hand resting on the rail of 
the gang-way, and when presently it was raised to the side 
of the steamer, he still kept his position, so that he could 
instantly catch sight of his father as he passed down. 1 
stood close behind him, and watched the motley procession 
of passengers; most of them had the dull, colorless skin 
which bespeaks long residence in India, and a particularly 
yellow and peevish-looking old man was grumbling loudly 
as he slowly made his way down the gang- way. 

“ The most disgraceful scene !” he remarked. “The 
fellow was as drunk as he could be. ” 

“ Who was it?” asked his companion. 

“ Why, Major Vaughan, to be sure. The only wonder 
is that he hasn't drunk himself to death by this time — 
been at it years enough!” 

Derrick turned, as though to shelter himself from the 
curious eyes of the travelers; but everywhere the quay was 
crowded. It seemed to me not unlike the life that lay be- 
fore him, with this new shame, which could not be hid; 
and I shall never forget the look of misery in his face. 

“ Most likely a great exaggeration of that spiteful old 
fogey's,” I said. “ 4 Never believe anything that you 
hear,' is a sound axiom. Had you not better try to get on 
board?” 

“ Yes; and for Heaven's sake come with me, Wham- 
cliffe!” he said. “It can't be true! It is, as you say, 
that man's spite, or else there is some one else of the 


28 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


name on board. That, must be it — some one else of the 
name.” 

I don’t know whether he managed to deceive himself. 
We made our way on board, and he spoke to one of the 
stewards, who conducted us to the saloon. I knew from 
the expression of the man’s face that the words we had 
overheard were but too true; it was a mere glance that he 
gave us, yet if he had said aloud, 44 they belong to that old 
drunkard! Thank Heaven I’m not in their shoes!” I 
oould not have better understood what was in his mind. 

There were three persons only in the great saloon: an 
officer’s servant, whose appearance did not please me; a 
fine-looking old man with gray hair and whiskers, and 
a rough-hewn, honest face, apparently the ship’s doctor; 
and a tall grizzled man, in whom I at once saw a sort of 
horrible likeness to Derrick — horrible because this face was 
wicked and degraded, and because its owner was drunk — 
noisily drunk. 

Derrick paused for a minute, looking at his father; 
then, deadly pale, he turned to the old doctor. 44 1 am 
Major Vaughan’s son,” he said. 

The doctor grasped his hand, and there was something 
in the old man’s kindly, chivalrous manner which brought 
a sort of light into the gloom. 

44 1 am very glad to see you!” he exclaimed. 44 Is the 
major’s luggage ready?” he inquired, turning to the serv- 
ant. Then, as the man replied in the affirmative, 44 How 
would it be, Mr. Vaughan, if your father’s man just saw 
the things into a cab? and then I’ll come on shore with 
you and see my patient safely settled in. ” 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


29 


Derrick acquiesced, and the doctor turned to the major, 
who was leaning up against one of the pillars of the saloon 
and shouting “ 'Twas in Trafalgar Bay 99 in a way which, 
under other circumstances, would have been highly comic. 
The doctor interrupted him, as with much feeling he sung 
how — 

“ England declared that every man 
That day had done his duty.” 

“ Look, major / 5 he said; “ here is your son come to 
meet you.” 

46 Glad to see you, my boy,” said the major, reeling for- 
ward and running all his words together, “ How's your 
mother? Is this Lawrence? Glad to see both of you! 
Why, your's like's two peas! Not Lawrence, do you say? 
Confound it, doctor, how the ship rolls to-day!” 

And the old wretch staggered and would have fallen, 
had not Derrick supported him and landed him safely on 
one of the fixed ottomans. 

“ Yes, yes, you're the son for me/' he went on, with a 
bland smile, which made his face all the more hideous. 
“ You're not so rough and clumsy as that confounded 
John Thomas, whose hands are like brickbats. I'm a 
mere wreck, as you see; it's the accursed climate! But 
your mother will soon nurse me into health again; she was 
always a good nurse, poor soul! it was her best point. 
What with you and your mother, I shall soon be myself 
again. '' 

Here the doctor interposed, and Derrick made desper- 
ately for a porthole and guJped down mouthfuls of fresh 
air: but he was not allowed much of a respite, for the 


30 DERRICK VAUGHAK— NOVELIST. 

servant returned to say that he had procured a cab, and 
the major called loudly for his son's arm. 

“ I'll not have you/* he said, pushing the servant vio- 
lently away. “ Come, Derrick, help me! you are worth 
two of that blockhead. " 

And Derrick came quickly forward, his face still very 
pale, but with a dignity about it which 1 had never before 
seen; and giving his arm to his drunken father, he piloted 
him across the saloon, through the staring ranks of stew- 
ards, officials, and tardy passengers outside, down the 
gang- way, and over the crowded quay to the cab. I knew 
that each derisive glance of the spectators was to him like 
a sword-thrust, and longed to throttle the major, who 
seemed to enjoy himself amazingly on terra firma , and 
sung at the top of his voice as we drove through the streets 
of Southampton. The old doctor kept up a cheery flow of 
small-talk with me, thinking, no doubt, that this would be 
a kindness to Derrick: and at last that purgatorial drive 
ended and somehow Derrick and the doctor between them 
got the major safely into his room at Radley's Hotel. 

We had ordered lunch in a private sitting-room, think- 
ing that the major would prefer it to the coffee-room; but, 
as it turned out, he was in no state to appear. They left 
him asleep, and the ship's doctor sat in the seat that had 
been prepared for his patient, and made the meal as toler- 
able to us both as it could be. He was an odd, old-fash- 
ioned fellow, but as true a gentleman as ever breathed. 

“ Now/* he said, when lunch was over, “you and 1 
must just have a talk together, Mr. Vaughan, and I will 
help you to understand your father's case. " 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


31 


I made a movement to go, but sat down again at Der- 
rick's request. 1 think, poor old fellow, he dreaded being 
alone, and knowing that I had seen his father at the worst, 
thought 1 might as well hear all particulars. 

4 4 Major Vaughan," continued the doctor, 44 has now 
been under my care for some weeks, and I had some com- 
munication with the regimental surgeon about his case be- 
fore he sailed. He is suffering from an enlarged liver, and 
the disease has been brought on by his unfortunate habit 
of over-indulgence in stimulants. " I could almost have 
smiled, so very gently and considerately did the good old 
man veil in long words the shameful fact. 44 It is a habit 
sadly prevalent among our fellow-countrymen in India; 
the climate aggravates the mischief, and very many lives 
are in this way ruined. Then your father was also un- 
fortunate enough to contract rheumatism when he was 
camping out in the jungle last year, and this is increasing 
on him very much, so that his life is almost intolerable to 
him, and he naturally flies for relief to his greatest enemy, 
drink. At all costs, however, you must keep him from 
stimulants; they will only intensify the disease and the 
sufferings — in fact they are poison to a man in such a 
state. Don't think I am a bigot in these matters; but I 
say that for a man in such a condition as this, there is 
nothing for it but total abstinence, and at all costs your 
father must be guarded from the possibility of procuring 
any sort of intoxicating drink. Throughout the voyage I 
have done my best to shield him, but it was a difficult 
matter. His servant, too, is not trustworthy, and should 
be dismissed if possible." 


32 * 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


“ Had he spoken at all of his plans?” asked Derrick, 
and his voice sounded strangely unlike itself. 

44 He asked me what place in England he had better set- 
tle down in,” said the doctor, 44 and I strongly recom- 
mended him to try Bath. This seemed to please him, and 
if he is well enough he had better go there to-morrow. 
He mentioned your mother this morning; no doubt she 
will know how to manage him.” 

6 4 My mother died six months ago,” said Derrick, push- 
ing back his chair and beginning to pace the room. The 
doctor made kindly apologies. 

44 Perhaps you have a sister who could go to him?” 

44 No,” replied Derrick. 44 My only sister is married, 
and her husband would never allow it.” 

44 Or a cousin of an aunt?” suggested the old man, 
naively unconscious that the words sounded like a quota- 
tion. 

1 saw the ghost of a smile flit over Derrick’s harassed 
face as he shook his head. 

44 1 suggested that he should go into some Home for — 
cases of the kind,” resumed the doctor, 44 or place himself 
under the charge of some medical man; however, he won’t 
hear of such a thing. But if he is left to himself — well, it 
is all up with him. He will drink himself to death in a 
few months.” 

44 He shall not be left alone,” said Derrick; 44 1 will live 
with him. Do you think I should do? It seems to be 
Hobson’s choice. ” 

I looked up in amazement — for here was Derrick calmly 
giving himself up to a life that must crush every plan for 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


33 


the future he had made. Did men make such a choice as 
that while they took two or three turns in a room? Did 
they speak so composedly after a struggle that must have 
been so bitter? Thinking it over now, I feel sure it was 
his extraordinary gift of insight and his clear judgment 
which made him behave in this way. He instantly per- 
ceived and promptly acted; the worst of the suffering 
came long after. 

“ Why of course you are the very best person in the 
world for him,” said the doctor. “ He has taken a fancy 
to you, and evidently you have a certain influence with 
him. If any one can save him it will be you.” 

But the thought of allowing Derrick to be sacrificed to 
that old brute of a major was more than I could bear 
calmly. 

“A more mad scheme was never proposed,” I cried. 
“ Why, doctor, it will be utter ruin to my friend’s career; 
he will lose years that no one can ever make up. And be- 
sides he is unfit for such a strain; he will never stand it.” 

My heart felt hot as I thought of Derrick, with his 
highly strung, sensitive nature, his refinement, his gentle- 
ness, in constant companionship with such a man as Major 
Vaughan. 

“ My dear sir,” said the old doctor, with a gleam in his 
eye, “ I understand your feeling well enough. But de- 
pend upon it, your friend has made the right choice, and 
there is no doubt that heTl be strong enough to do his 
duty.” 

The word reminded me of the major’s song, and my 

voice was abominably sarcastic in tone as I said to Der- 
2 


34 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


rick, “ You no longer consider writing your duty 
then.” 

“Yes,” he said, “but it must stand second to this. 
Don’t be vexed, Sydney; our plans are knocked on the 
head, but it is not so bad as you make out. I have at any 
rate enough to live on, and can afford to wait.” 

There was no more to be said, and the next day I saw 
that strange trio set out on their road to Bath. The 
major looking more wicked when sober than he had done 
when drunk; the old doctor kindly and considerate as 
ever; and Derrick, with an air of resolution about that 
English face of his, and a dauntless expression in his eyes 
which impressed me curiously. 

These quiet reserved fellows are always giving one odd 
surprises. He had astounded me by the vigor and depth 
of the first volume of “Lynwood’s Heritage.” He as- 
tonished me now by a new phase in his own character. 
Apparently he who had always been content to follow 
where I led, and to watch life rather than to take an active 
share in it, now intended to strike out a very decided line 
of his own. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Both Goethe and Schiller were profoundly convinced that Art 
was no luxury of leisure, no mere amusement to charm the idle, or 
relax the care-worn; but a mighty influence, serious in its aims 
although pleasurable in its means; a sister of Religion, by whose 
aid the great world-scheme was wrought into reality.-— Lewes’s 
Life of Goethe. 

Man is a selfish being, and I am a particularly fine 
specimen of the race as far as that characteristic goes. If 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


35 


I had a dozen drunken parents I should never have danced 
attendance on one of them; yet in my secret soul 1 ad- 
mired Derrick for the line he had taken, for. we mostly do 
admire what is unlike ourselves and really noble, though 
it is the fashion to seem totally indifferent to everything in 
heaven and earth. But all the same I felt annoyed about 
the whole business, and was glad to forget it in my own 
affairs at Mondisfield. 

Weeks passed by. I lived through a midsummer dream 
of happiness, and a hard awaking. That, however, has 
nothing to do with Derrick's story, and may be passed 
over. In October I settled down in Montague Street, 
Bloomsbury, and began to read for the Bar, in about as 
disagreeable a frame of mind as can be conceived. One 
morning I found on my breakfast-table a letter in Der- 
rick's handwriting. Like most men, we hardly ever cor- 
responded— what women say in the eternal letters they 
send to each other I can't conceive — but it struck me that 
under the circumstances I ought to have sent him a line to 
ask how he was getting on, and my conscience pricked me 
as I remembered that I had hardly thought of him since 
we parted, being absorbed in my own matters. The letter 
was not very long, but when one read between the lines it 
somehow told a great deal. I have it lying by me, and 
this is a copy of it: 

“ Dear Sydney, — Do like a good fellow go to North 
Audley Street for me, to the house which I described to 
you as the one where Lynwood lodged, and tell me what 
he would see besides the church from his window— if 


36 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


shops, what kind? Also if any glimpse of Oxford Street 
would be visible. Then if you’ll add to your favors by 
getting me a second-hand copy of Laveleye’s 4 Socialisme 
Contemporain,’ I should be forever grateful. We are set- 
tled in here all right. Bath is empty, but I people it as 
far as 1 can with the folk out of 6 Evelina ’ and 4 Persua- 
sion/ How did you get on at Blachington? and which of 
the Misses Merrifield went in the end? Don’t bother 
about the commissions. Any time will do. Ever yours, 

44 Derrick Vaughan. ” 

Poor old fellow! all the spirit seemed knocked out of 
him. There was not one word about the major, and who 
could say what wretchedness was veiled in that curt 
phrase, 44 we are settled in a,ll right?” All right! it was 
all as wrong as it could be! My blood began to boil at 
the thought of Derrick, with his great powers — his won- 
derful gift — cooped up in a place where the study of life 
was so limited and so dull. Then there was his hunger 
for news of Freda, and his silence as to what had kept him 
away from Blachington, and about all a sort of proud hu- 
mility which prevented him from saying much that I 
should have expected him to say under the circumstances. 

It was Saturday, and my time was my own. I went 
out, got his book for him; interviewed North Audley 
Street; spent a bad five minutes in company with that 
villain 44 Bradshaw,” who is responsible for so much of the 
brain and eye disease of the nineteenth century, and 
finally left Paddington in the Flying Dutchman, which 
landed me at Bath early in the afternoon. I left my port- 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


3? 


manteau at the station, and walked through the city till I 
reached Gay Street. Like most of the streets of Bath, it 
was broad, and had on either hand dull, well-built, dark 
gray, eminently respectable, unutterably dreary-looking 
houses. I rang, and the door was opened to me by a most 
quaint old woman, evidently the landlady. An odor of 
curry pervaded the passage, and became more oppressive 
as the door of the sitting-room was opened, and I was 
ushered in upon the major and his son, who had just fin- 
ished lunch. 

“ Halloo!” cried Derrick, springing up, his face full of 
delight which touched me, while at the same time it filled 
me with envy. 

Even the major thought fit to give me a hearty wel- 
come. 

Glad to see you again,” he said, pleasantly enough. 
“ It's a relief to have a fresh face to look at. We have 
a room which is quite at your disposal, and 1 hope you' 11 
stay with us. Brought your portmanteau, eh?” 

“ It is at the station,” 1 replied. 

“ See that it is sent for,” he said to Derrick; “ and 
show Mr. Wharncliffe all that is to be seen in this cursed 
hole of a place.” Then, turning again to me, “ Have you 
lunched? Very well, then, don't waste this fine afternoon 
in an invalid's room, but be off and enjoy yourself.” 

So cordial was the old man, that I should have thought 
him already a reformed character, had I not found that he 
kept the rough side of his tongue for home use. Derrick 
placed a novel and a small hand-bell within his reach, and 
we were just going, when we were checked by a volley o£ 


38 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


oaths from the major; then a book came flying across the 
room, well aimed at Derrick’s head. He stepped aside, 
and let it fall with a crash on the sideboard. 

“ What do you mean by giving me the second volume 
when you know I am in the third?” fumed the invalid. 

He apologized quietly, fetched the third volume, 
straightened the disordered leaves of the discarded second, 
and with the air of one well accustomed to such little do- 
mestic scenes, took up his hat and came out with me. 

“ How long do you intend to go on playing David to 
the major’s Saul?” I asked, marveling at the way in 
which he endured the humors of his father. 

“ As long as I have the chance,” he replied. “ 1 say, 
are you sure you won’t mind staying with us? It can’t be 
a very comfortable household for an outsider. ” 

“ Much better than for an insider, to all appearance,” I 
replied. “ I’m only too delighted to stay. And now, old 
fellow, tell me the honest truth: you didn’t, you know, in 
your letter; how have you been getting on?” 

Derrick launched into an account of his father’s ail- 
ments. 

“ Oh, hang the major! 1 don’t care about him, I want 
to know about you,” I cried. 

“About me?” said Derrick doubtfully. “Oh, I’m 
right enough.” 

“ What do you do with yourself? How on earth do you 
kill time?” I asked. “ Gome, give me a full, true, and 
particular account of it all. ” 

“We have tried three other servants,” said Derrick; 
“but the plan doesn’t answer. They either won’t stand 


DERKICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


39 


it, or else they are bribed into smuggling brandy into the 
house. I find I can do most thiugs for my father, and in 
the morning he has an attendant from the hospital who is 
trustworthy, and who does what is necessary for him. At 
ten we breakfast together, then there are the morning 
papers which he likes to have read to him. After that 1 
go round to the Pump Room with him— odd contrast now 
to what it must have been when Bath was the rage. Then 
we have lunch. In the afternoon, if he is well enough, we 
drive; if not, he sleeps, and I get a walk. Later on an 
old Indian friend of his will sometimes drop in; if not, he 
likes to be read to until dinner. After dinner we play 
chess — he is a first-rate player. At ten I help him to bed ; 
from eleven to twelve I smoke and study Socialism and all 
the rest of it that Lynwood is at present floundering in.” 

“ Why don't you write then?” 

“ I tried it, but it didn't answer. I couldn't sleep after 
it, and was in fact too tired; seems absurd to be tired after 
such a day as that, but somehow it takes it out of one 
more than the hardest reading; I don't know why.” 

“Why,” I said, angrily, “it's because it is work to 
which you are quite unsuited — work for a. thin-skinned, 
hard-hearted, uncultivated and well-paid attendant, not 
for the novelist who is to be the chief light of our genera- 
tion.” 

He laughed at this estimate of his powers. 

“ Novelists, like other cattle, have to obey their owner," 
he said, lightly. 

I thought for the moment that he meant the major, and 
was breaking into an angry remonstrance, when I saw 


40 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


that he meant something quite different. It was always 
his strongest point, this extraordinary consciousness of 
right, this unwavering belief that he had to do and there- 
fore could do certain things. Without this, I know that 
he never wrote a line, and in my heart 1 believe that this 
was the cause of his success. 

“ Then you are not writing at all?” I asked. 

64 Yes, I write generally for a couple of hours before 
breakfast,” he said. 

And that evening we sat by his gas-stove and he read 
me the next four chapters of ‘‘Lynwood.” He had 
rather a dismal lodging-house bedroom, with faded wall- 
paper and prosaic snuff-colored carpet. On a rickety table 
in the window was his desk, and a portfolio full of blue 
foolscap, but he had done what he could to make the place 
habitable; his Oxford pictures were on the walls— -Hoff- 
mann's “ Christ speaking to the Woman taken in Adul- 
tery ” hanging over the mantel-piece — it had always been 
a favorite of his. I remember that, as he read the descrip- 
tion of Lynwood and his wife, I kept looking from him to 
the Christ in the picture, till I could almost have fancied 
that each face bore the same expression. Had his strange 
monotonous life with that old brute of a major brought 
him some new perception of those words, “ Neither do I 
condemn thee?” But when he stopped reading, I, true to 
my character, forgot his affairs in my own, and we sat 
talking far into the night — talking of that .luckless month 
at Mondisfield, of all the problems it had opened up, and 
of my wretchedness. 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


41 


“You were in town all September?” he asked; “you 
gave up Blachington?” 

“Yes,” I replied. “What did 1 care for country 
houses in such a mood as that?” 

He acquiesced, and I went on talking of my grievances, 
and it was not till I was in the train, on my way back to 
London, that I remembered how a look of disappointment 
had passed over his face just at the moment. Evidently he 
had counted on learning something about Freda from me, 
and I — well, 1 had clean forgotten both her existence and 
his passionate love. 

Something, probably self - interest, the desire for my 
friend's company, and so forth, took me down to Bath 
pretty frequently in those days; luckily the major had a 
sort of liking for me, and was always polite enough; and 
dear old Derrick — well, I believe my visits really helped to 
brighten him up. At any rate he said he couldn't have 
borne his life without them, and for a skeptical, dismal, 
cynical fellow like me to hear that was somehow flattering. 
The mere force of contrast did me good. I used to come 
back on the Monday wondering that Derrick didn't cut his 
throat, and realizing that, after all, it was something to be 
a free agent, and to have comfortable rooms in Montague 
Street, with no old bear of a drunkard to disturb my 
peace. And then a sort of admiration sprung up in my 
heart, and the cynicism bred of melancholy broodings 
over solitary pipes was less rampant than usual. 

It was, I think, early in the new year that 1 met Law- 
rence Vaughan in Bath. He was not staying at Gay 


4 2 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


Street, so I could still have the vacant room next to Der- 
rick's. Lawrence put up at the York House Hotel. 

“For you know/' he informed me, “I really can't 
stand the governor for more than an hour or two at a 
time." 

“ Derrick manages to do it," I said. 

“ Oh, Derrick, yes," he replied, “ it's his metier , and 
he is well accustomed to the life. Besides, you know, he 
is such a dreamy, quiet sort of fellow; he lives all the time 
in a world of his own creation, and bears the discomforts 
of this world with great philosophy. Actually he has 
turned teetotaler! It would kill me in a week." 

I make a point of never arguing with a fellow like that, 
but I think 1 had a vindictive longing, as I looked at him, 
to shut him up with the major for a month, and see what 
would happen. 

These twin brothers were curiously alike in face and 
curiously unlike in nature. So much for the great science 
of physiognomy. It often seemed to me that they 
were the complement of each other. For instance. Der- 
rick in society was extremely silent, Lawrence was a rat- 
tling talker; Derrick, when alone with you, would now and 
then reveal unsuspected depths of thought and expression; 
Lawrence, when alone with you, very frequently showed 
himself to be a cad. The elder twin was modest and diffi- 
dent, the younger inclined to brag; the one had a strong 
tendency to melancholy, the other was blessed or cursed 
with the sort of temperament which has been said to ac- 
company “ a hard heart and a good digestion." 

“ I was not surprised to find that the son who could not 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


43 


tolerate the governor's presence for more than an hour or 
two, was a prime favorite with the old man: that was just 
the way of the world. Of course, the major was as polite 
as possible to him; Derrick got the kicks and Lawrence 
the halfpence. 

In the evenings we played whist, Lawrence coming in 
after dinner, “ For, you know," he explained to me, “1 
really couldn't get through a meal with nothing but those 
infernal mineral waters to wash it down." 

And here I must own that at my first visit I had sailed 
rather close to the wind: for when the major, like the hat- 
ter in “ Alice," pressed me to take wine, 1 — not seeing 
any — had answered that I did not take it; mentally adding 
the words “ in your house, you brute!" 

The two brothers were fond of each other after a fash- 
ion. But Derrick was human, and had his faults like the 
rest of us; and I am pretty sure he did not much enjoy 
the sight of his father's foolish and unreasoning devotion 
to Lawrence. If you come to think of it, he would have 
been a full-fledged angel if no jealous pang, no reflection 
that it was rather rough on him, had crossed his mind, 
when he saw his younger brother treated with every mark 
of respect and liking, and knew that Lawrence would 
never stir a finger really to help the poor fractious invalid. 
Unluckily they happened one night to get on the subject 
of professions. 

“It's a comfort," said the major in his sarcastic way, 
“to have a fellow-soldier to talk to instead of a quill- 
driver, who as yet is not even a penny-a-liner. Eh, Der- 
rick? Don't you feel inclined to regret your fool's choice 


4:4 


DERRICK YAU GHAK — NOVELIST. 


now? You might have been starting o3 for the war with 
Lawrence next week, if you hadn’t chosen what you’re 
pleased to call a literary life. Literary life, indeed! I lit- 
tle thought a son of mine would ever have been so wanting 
in spirit as to prefer dabbling in ink to a life of action — to 
be the scribbler of mere words, rather than an officer of 
dragoons. ” 

Then to my astonishment Derrick sprung to his feet in 
hot indignation. 1 never saw him look so handsome, be- 
fore or since; for his anger was not the distorting devilish 
anger that the major gave way to, but real downright 
wrath. 

“ You speak contemptuously of mere novels,” he said, 
in a low voice, yet more clearly than usual, and as if the 
words were wrung out of him. “ What right have you to 
look down on one of the greatest weapons of the day? and 
why is a writer to submit to scoffs and insults and tamely 
hear his profession reviled? I have chosen to write the 
message that has be?n given me, and I don’t regret the 
choice. Should I have shown greater spirit if I had sold 
my freedom and right of judgment to be one of the 
national killing machines?” 

With that he threw down his cards and strode out of the 

room in a white heat of anger. It was a pity he made that 

) 

last remark, for it put him in the wrong, and needlessly 
annoyed Lawrence and the major. But an angry man has 
no time to weigh his words, and, as I said, poor old Der- 
rick was very human, and when wounded too intolerably, 
could on occasion retaliate. 

The major uttered an oath and looked in astonishment 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


45 


at the retreating figure. Derrick was such an extraordi- 
narily quiet,, respectful, long-suffering son as a rule, that 
this outburst was startling in the extreme. Moreover, it 
spoiled the game, and-the old man, chafed by the result of 
his own ill-nature, and helpless to bring back his partner, 
was forced to betake himself to chess. 1 left him grum- 
bling away to Lawrence about the vanity of authors, and 
went out in the hope of finding Derrick. As I left the 
house I saw some one turn the corner into the Circus, and 
starting in pursuit, overtook the tall dark figure where 
Bennett Street opens on to the Lansdowne Hill. 

“ Dm glad you spoke up, old fellow,” I said, taking his 
arm. 

He modified his pace a little. “ Why is it,” he ex- 
claimed, “ that every other profession can be taken seri- 
ously, but that a novelist's work is supposed to be mere 
play? Good God! don't we suffer enough? Have we not 
hard brain-work and drudgery of desk-work and tedious 
gathering of statistics and troublesome search into details? 
Have we not an appalling weight of responsibility on us? — 
and are we not at the mercy of a thousand capricious 
chances?” 

“ Come now,” I exclaimed, “ you know that you are 
never so happy as when you are writing.” 

“ Of course,” he replied; “ but that doesn't make me 
resent such an attack the less. Besides, you don't know 
what it is to have to write in such an atmosphere as ours; 
it's like a weight on one's pen. This life here is not life 
at all — it's a daily death, and it's killing the book, too; 


46 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


the last chapters are wretched. Fm utterly dissatisfied 
with them.” 

“ As for that,” I said, calmly, 44 you are no judge at 
all. You never can tell the worth of your own work; the 
last bit is splendid. ” 

t4 I could have done it better,” he groaned. 44 But 
there is always a ghastly depression dragging one back 
here — and then the time is so short; just as one gets into 
the swing of it the breakfast bell rings, and then comes — ” 
He broke off. 

I could well supply the end of the sentence, however, 
for 1 knew that then came the slow torture of a tete-a-tete 
with the major, stinging sarcasms, humiliating scoldings, 
vexations and difficulties innumerable. 

I drew him to the left, having no mind to go to the top 
of the hill. We slackened our pace again and walked to 
and fro along the broad, level pavement of Lansdowne 
Crescent. We had it entirely to ourselves — not another 
creature was in sight. 

44 1 could bear it all,” he burst forth, 44 if only there 
was a chance of seeing Freda. Oh, you are better off than 
I am — at least you know the worst. Your hope is killed, 
but mine lives on a tortured, starved life! Would to God 
1 had never seen her!” 

44 Certainly before that night I had never quite realized 
the irrevocableness of poor Derrick's passion. I had half 
hoped that time and separation would gradually efface 
Freda Merrifield from his memory; and 1 listened with a 
dire foreboding to the flood of wretchedness which he 
poured forth as we paced up and down, thinking now and 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — K0YELIST. 47 

then how little people guessed at the tremendous powers 
hidden under his usually quiet exterior. 

At length he paused, but his last heart-broken words 
seemed to vibrate in the air and to force me to speak some 
kind of comfort. 

“ Derrick,” I said, “ come back with me to London — 
give up this miserable life. ’ ^ 

I felt him start a little; evidently no thought of yielding 
had come to him before. We were passing the house that 
used to belong to that strange book-lover and recluse, 
Beckford. I looked up at the blank windows, and thought 
of that curious, self-centered life in the past, surrounded 
by every luxury, able to indulge every whim; and then 1 
looked at my companion's pale, tortured face, and thought 
of the life he had elected to lead in the hope of saving one 
whom duty bound him to honor. After all, which life 
was the most worth living — which was the most to be ad- 
mired? 

We walked on: down below us and up. on the further 
hill we could see the lights of Bath; the place so beautiful 
by day looked now like a fairy city, and the abbey, loom- 
ing up against the moonlit sky, seemed like some great 
giant keeping watch over the clustering roofs below. The 
well-known chimes rang out into the night and the clock 
struck ten. 

“ I must go back,” said Derrick quietly. “ My father 
will want to get to bed. '' 

I couldn't say a word; we turned, passed Beckford's 
house once more, walked briskly down the hill, and 
reached the Gay Street lodging-house. I remember the 


48 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


stifling heat of the room as we entered it, and its contrast 
to the cool, dark, winter’s night outside. I can vividly re- 
call, too, the old major’s face as he looked up with a sar- 
castic remark, but with a shade of anxiety in his blood- 
shot eyes. He was leaning back in a green-cushioned 
chair, and his ghastly yellow complexion seemed to me 
more noticeable than usual — his scanty gray hair and 
whiskers, the lines of pain so plainly visible in his face, 
impressed me curiously. I think 1 had never before real- 
ized what a wreck of a man he was — how utterly depend- 
ent on others. 

Lawrence, who, to do him justice, had a good deal of 
tact, and who, I believe, cared for his brother as much as 
he was capable of caring for any one but himself, repeated 
a good story with which he had been enlivening the major, 
and I did what I could to keep up the talk. Derrick 
meanwhile put away the chessmen, and lighted the ma- 
jor’s candle. He even managed to force up a laugh at 
Lawrence’s story, and, as he helped his father out of the 
room, I think I was the only one who noticed the look of 
tired endurance in his eyes. 


CHAPTER V. 

I know 

How far high failure overtops the bounds 
Of low successes. Only suffering draws 
The inner heart of song, and can elicit 
The perfumes of the soul . — Epic of Ilades. 

Next week, Lawrence went off like a hero to the war; 
and my friend — also I think like a hero — stayed on at 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


49 


Bath, enduring as best he could the worst form of loneli- 

\ 

ness; for undoubtedly there is no loneliness so frightful as 
constant companionship with an uncongenial person. He 
had, however, one consolation: the major’s health steadily 
improved, under the joint influence of total abstinence 
and Bath waters, and, with the improvement, his temper 
became a little better. 

But one Saturday, when I had run down to Bath with- 
out writing beforehand, 1 suddenly found a different state 
of things. In Orange Grove I met Dr. Mackrill, the ma- 
jor’s medical man; he used now and then to play whist 
with us on Saturday nights, and I stopped to speak to 
him. 

4 4 Oh! you’ve come down again. That’s all right!” he 
said. “ Your friend wants some one to cheer him up. 
He’s got his arm broken.” 

“ How on earth did he manage that?” 1 asked. 

“ Well, that’s more than 1 can tell you,” said the doc- 
tor, with an odd look in his eyes, as if he guessed more 
than he would put into words. 64 All 1 can get out of 
him was that it was done accidentally. The major is not 
so well; no whist for us to-night, I’m afraid.” He passed 
on, and I made my way to Gay Street. There was an air 
of mystery about the quaint old landlady; she looked 
brimful of news when she opened the door to me; but she 
managed to “ keep herself to herself,” and showed me in 
upon the major and Derrick, rather triumphantly I 
thought. The major looked terribly ill — worse than I had 
ever seen him, and, as for Derrick, he had the strangest 
look of shrinking and shamefaeecfness you ever saw. He 


50 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


said he was glad to see me, but I knew that he lied. He 
would have given anything to have kept me away. 

“ Broken your arm?” I exclaimed, feeling bound to 
take some notice of the sling. 

66 Yes,” he replied, “ 1 met with an accident to it. But 
luckily it's only the left one, so it doesn't hinder me 
much! I have finished seven chapters of the last volume 
of 6 Lynwood/ and was just wanting to ask you a legal 
question.” 

All this time his eyes bore my scrutiny defiantly; they 
seemed to dare me to say one other word about the broken 
arm. I didn't dare — indeed to this day I have never men- 
tioned the subject to him. 

But that evening, while he was helping the major to 
bed, the old landlady made some pretext for toiling up to 
the top of the house, where 1 sat smoking in Derrick's 
room. 

“ You'll excuse my making bold to speak to you, sir,” 
she said. 1 threw down my newspaper, and, looking up, 
saw that she was bubbling over with some story. 

“ Well?” I said, encouragingly. 

“ It's about Mr. Vaughan, sir, I wanted, to speak to 
you. 1 really do think, sir, it's not safe he should be left 
alone with his father, sir, any longer. Such doings as we 
had here the other day, sir. Somehow or other — and none 
of us can't think how — the major had managed to get 
hold of a bottle of brandy. How he had it I don't know; 
but we none of us suspected him, and in the afternoon he 
says he was too poorly to go for a drive or to go out in his 
chair, and settles off on the parlor sofa for a nap while 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


51 


Mr. Vaughan goes out for a walk. Mr. Vaughan was out 
a couple of hours. I heard him come in and go into the 
sitting-room; then there came sounds of voices, and a 
scuffling of feet and moving of chairs, and I knew some- 
thing was wrong and hurried up to the door — and just 
then came a crash like fire-irons, and I could hear the ma- 
jor a-s wearing fearful. Not hearing a sound from Mr. 
Vaughan, I got scared, sir, and opened the door, and 
there 1 saw the major a-leaning up against the mantel- 
piece as drunk as a lord, and his son seemed to have got 
the bottle from him; it was half empt}^ and when he saw 
me he just handed it to me and ordered me to take it 
away. Then between us we got the major to lie down on 
the sofa and left him there. When we got out into the 
passage Mr. Vaughan he leaned against the wall for a 
minute, looking as white as a sheet, and then I noticed for 
the first time that his left arm was hanging down at his 
side. ‘Lord! sir/ I cried, ‘your arm’s broken.’ And 
he went all at once as red as he had been pale just before, 
and said he had got it done accidentally, and bade me say 
nothing about it, and walked off there and then to the 
doctor’s, and had it set. But, sir, given a man drunk as 
the major was, and given a scuffle to get away the drink 
that was poisoning him, and given a crash such as I hard, 
and given a poker a-lying in the middle of the room where 
it stands to reason no poker could get unless it was thrown 
— why, sir, no sensible woman who can put two and two 
together can doubt that it was all the major’s doing.” 

“Yes,” I said, “that is clear enough; but for Mr. 
Vaughan’s sake we must hush it up; and, as for safety. 


52 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


why, the major is hardly strong enough to do him any 
worse damage than that.” 

The good old thing wiped away a tear from her eyes. 
She was very fond of Derrick, and it went to her heart 
that he should lead such a dog’s life. 

I said what I could to comfort her, and she went down 
again, fearful lest he should discover her upstairs and 
guess that she had opened her heart to me. 

Poor Derrick! That he of all people on earth should*be 
mixed up with such a police-court story — with drunkards, 
and violence, and pokers figuring in it! I lay back in the 
camp-chair and looked at Hoffmann’s “ Christ,” and 
thought of all the extraordinary problems that one is for- 
ever coming across in life. And I wondered whether the 
people of Bath who saw the tall, impassive-looking, hazel- 
eyed son and the invalid father in their daily pilgrimages 
to the Pump Room, or in church on Sunday, or in the 
park on sunny afternoons, had the least notion of the 
tragedy that was going on. My reflections were inter- 
rupted by his entrance. He had forced up a cheerfulness 
that I am sure he didn’t really feel, and seemed afraid of 
letting our talk flag for a moment. I remember, too, that 
for the first time he offered to read me his novel, instead 
of as usual waiting for me to ask to hear it. I can see him 
now, fetching the untidy portfolio and turning over the 
pages, adroitly enough, as though anxious to show how 
immaterial was the loss of a left arm. That night I list- 
ened to the first half of the third volume of “ Lynwood’s 
Heritage,” and couldn’t help reflecting that its author 
seemed to thrive on misery; and yet how I grudged him to 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


53 


this deadly-lively place, and this monotonous, cooped-up 
life. 

“ How do you manage to write one-handed?” I asked. 

And he sat down to his desk, put a letterweight on the 
left-hand corner of the sheet of foolscap, and wrote that 
comical first paragraph of the eighth chapter over which 
we have all laughed. I suppose few readers guessed the 
author's state of mind when he wrote it. I looked over 
his shoulder to see what he had written, and couldn't help 
laughing aloud; I verily believe that it was his way of 
turning off attention from his arm, and leading me safely 
from the region of awkward questions. 

“ By the bye,” 1 exclaimed, “your writing of garden- 
parties reminds me. 1 went to one at Campden Hill the 
other day, and had the good fortune to meet Miss Freda 
Merrifield. ” 

How his face lighted up, poor fellow, and what a flood 
of questions he poured out. “ She looked very well and 
very pretty,” I replied. “ I played two sets of tennis with 
her. She asked after you directly she saw me, seeming to 
think that we always hunted in couples. I told her you 
were living here, taking care of an invalid father; but just 
then up came the others to arrange the game. * She and 
I got the best courts, and as we crossed over to them she 
told me she had met your brother several times last au- 
tumn, when she had been staying near Aldershot. Odd 
that he never mentioned her here; but 1 don't suppose she 
made much impression on him. She is not at all his 
style.” 

“ Did you have much more talk with her?” he asked. 


54 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


44 No, nothing to be called talk. She told me they 
were leaving London next week, and she was longing to 
get back to the country to her beloved animals — rabbits, 
poultry, an aviary, and all that kind of thing. I should 
gather that they had kept her rather in the background 
this season, but 1 understand that the eldest sister is to be 
married in the winter, and then no doubt Miss Freda will 
be brought forward . 99 

He seemed wonderfully cheered by this opportune meet- 
ing, and though there was so little to tell he appeared to 
be quite content. 1 left him on Monday in fairly good 
spirits, and did not come across him again till September, 
when his arm was well, and his novel finished and revised. 
He never made two copies of his work, and 1 fancy this 
was perhaps because he spent so short a time each day in 
actual writing, and lived so continually in his work; more- 
over, as I said before, he detested penmanship. 

The last part of 44 Lynwood 99 far exceeded my ex- 
pectations; perhaps — yet I don't really think so — I viewed 
it too favorably. But I owed the book a debt of gratitude, 
since it certainly helped me through the worst part of my 
life. 

44 Don't you feel flat now it is finished?" I asked. 

4 4 1 felt so miserable that I had to plunge into another 
story three days after," he replied; and then and there he 
gave me the sketch of his- second novel, 4 At Strife,' and 
told me how he meant to weave in his childish fancies 
about the defense of the bridge in the Civil Wars. 

44 And about 4 Lynwood '? Are you coming up to town 
to hawk him round?" I asked. 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


55 


“ I can't do that/* he said; “ you see I am tied here. 
No, I must send him off by rail, and let him take his 
chance.** 

“ No such thing!** I cried. “ If you can*t leave Bath 
I will take him round for you. ** 

And Derrick, who with the oddest inconsistency would 
let his MS. lie about anyhow at home, but hated the 
thought of sending it out alone on its travels, gladly ac- 
cepted my offer. So next week 1 set off with the huge 
brown-paper parcel; few, however, will appreciate my 
good nature, for no one but an author or a publisher knows 
the fearful weight of a three-volume novel in MS. ! To 
my intense satisfaction I soon got rid of it, for the first 
good firm to which I took it received it with great polite- 
ness, to be handed over to their “ reader ** for an opinion; 
and apparently the “ reader *s ** opinion coincided with 
mine, for a month later Derrick received an offer for it 
with which he at once closed — not because it was a good 
one, but because the firm was well thought of, and be- 
cause he wished to lose no time, but to have the book 
published at once. I happened to be there when his 
first “ proofs ** arrived. The major had had an attack of 
jaundice, and was in a fiendish humor. We had a miser- 
able time of it at dinner, for he badgered Derrick almost 
past bearing, and I think the poor old fellow minded it 
more when there was a third person present. Somehow, 
through all, he managed to keep his extraordinary capacity 
for reverencing mere age — even this degraded and detest- 
able old age of the major*s. I often thought that in this 
he was like my own ancestor, Hugo Wharncliffe, whose 


56 


DERRICK VAUGHAK — KOVELIST. 


deference and respectfulness and patience had not de- 
scended to me, while unfortunately the effects of his 
physical infirmities had. I sometimes used to reflect bit- 
terly enough on the truth of Herbert Spencer’s teaching 
as to heredity, so clearly shown in my own case. In the 
year 1683, through the abominable cruelty and harshness 
of his brother Eandolph, this Hugo Wharncliffe, my. great- 
great-great-great-great-grandfather, was immured in New- 
gate, and his constitution was thereby so much impaired 
and enfeebled that two hundred years after, my constitu- 
tion is paying the penalty, and my whole life is thereby 
changed and thwarted. Hence this childless Randolph is 
affecting the course of several lives in the nineteenth cent- 
ury to their grievous hurt. * 

But revenons a nos montons — that is to say, to our lion 
and lamb — the old brute of a major and his long-suffering 
son. 

While the table was being cleared, the major took forty 
winks on the sofa, and we two beat a retreat, lighted up 
our pipes in the passage, and were just turning out when the 
postman’s double knock came, but no shower of letters in 
the box. Derrick threw open the door, and the man 
handed him a fat stumpy-looking roll in a pink wrapper. 

“ 1 say!” he exclaimed, “ proofs !” 

And, in hot haste, he began tearing away the pink 
paper, till out came the clean folded bits of printing and 
the dirty and disheveled blue foolscap, the look of which I 
knew so well. It is an odd feeling, that first seeing one’s 
self in print, and I could guess, even then, what a thrill 
shot through Derrick as he turned over the jiages. But he 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


5 7 


would not take them into the sitting-room, no doubt 
dreading another diatribe against his profession; and we 
solemnly played euchre, and patiently endured the majors 
withering sarcasms till ten o’clock sounded our happy re- 
lease. 

However, to make a long story short, a month later — 
that is, at the end of November — “ Lynwood’s Heritage ” 
was published, in three volumes with maroon cloth and 
gilt lettering. Derrick had distributed among his friends 
the publishers’ announcement of the day of publication; 
and when it was out I besieged the libraries for it, always 
expressing surprise if I did not find it in their lists. Then 
began the time of reviews. As I had expected, they were 
extremely favorable, with the exception of “ The Herald,” 
“ The Stroller,” and “ The Hour,” which made it rather 
hot for him, the latter in particular pitching into his views 
and assuring its readers that the book was “ dangerous,” 
and its author a believer in — various things especially re- 
pugnant to Derrick, as it happened. 

I was with him when he read these reviews. Over the 
cleverness of the satirical attack in “ The Weekly Her- 
ald ” he laughed heartily, though the laugh was against 
himself; and as to the critic who wrote in 66 The Stroller,” 
it was apparent to all who knew “ Lynwood ” that he had 
not read much of the book; but over this review in “ The 
Hour ” he was genuinely angry — it hurt him personally, 
and, as it afterward turned out, played no small part in 
the story of his life. The good reviews, however, were 
many and their recommendation of the book hearty; they 
all prophesied that it would be a great success. Yet, in 


58 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


spite of this, “ Lyn wood’s Heritage ” didn’t sell. Was it, 
as I had feared, that Derrick was too devoid of the pushing 
faculty ever to make a successful writer? Or was it that 
he was handicapped by being down in the provinces play- 
ing keeper to that abominable old bear? Anyhow, the 
book was well received, read with enthusiasm by an ex- 
tremely small circle, and then it dropped down to the bot- 
tom among the mass of overlooked literature, and its 
career seemed to be over. 1 can recall the look in Der- 
rick’s face when one day he glanced through the new 
Mudie & Smith’s lists and found “ Lynwood’s Heritage ” 
no longer down. I had been trying to cheer him up 
about the book and quoting all the favorable remarks I 
had heard about it. But unluckily this was damning evi- 
dence against my optimist view. 

He sighed heavily and put down the lists. 

“ It’s no use to deceive one’s self,” he said, drearily, 
“ 6 Lynwood ’ has failed.” 

Something in the deep depression of look and tone gave 
me a momentary insight into the author’s heart. He 
thought, I know, of the agony of mind this book had cost 
him; of those long months of waiting and their deadly 
struggle, of the hopes which had made all he passed 
through seem so well worth while; and the bitterness of 
the disappointment was no doubt intensified by the knowl- 
edge that the major would rejoice over it. 

We walked that afternoon along the Bradford Valley, a 
road which Derrick was specially fond of. He loved the 
thickly wooded hills, and the glimpses of the Avon which, 
flanked by the canal and the railway, runs parallel with 


DEKRICK VAUGHAK — NOVELIST. 


59 


the high-road; he always admired, too, a certain little vil- 
lage with gray stone cottages which lay in this direction, 
and liked to look at the side of the old hall near the road: 
nothing remained of it but the tall gate-posts, and rusty 
iron gates looking strangely dreary and deserted, and 
within one could see, between some dark yew-trees, an old 
terrace walk with stone steps and balustrades — the most 
ghostly-looking place you can conceive. 

“ I know you'll put this into a book some day," I said. 

‘ 4 Yes," he said, “it is already beginning to simmer in 
my brain." Apparently his deep disappointment as to his 
first venture had in no way affected his perfectly clear con- 
sciousness that, come what would, he had to write. 

As we walked back to Bath he told me his “Ruined 
Hall " story as far as it had yet evolved itself in his brain, 
and we were still discussing it when in Milsom Street we 
met a boy crying evening papers, and details of the last 
great battle at Saspataras Hill. 

Derrick broke off hastily, everything but anxiety for 
Lawrence driven from his mind. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Say not, O Soul, thou art defeated, 

Because thou art distrest; 

If thou of better things art cheated, 

Thou canst not be of best. 

T. T. Lynch. 

“ Good heavens, Sydney!" he exclaimed, in great ex- 
citement, and with his whole face aglow with pleasure, 
“ look here!" 


60 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


He pointed to a few lines in the paper which mentioned 
the heroic conduct of Lieutenant L. Vaughan, who at the 
risk of his life had rescued a brother officer when sur- 
rounded by the enemy and completely disabled. Lieu- 
tenant Vaughan had managed to mount the wounded man 
on his own horse and had miraculously escaped himself 
with nothing worse than a sword-thrust in the left arm. 

We went home in triumph to the major, and Derrick 
read the whole account aloud. With all his detestation of 
war, he was nevertheless greatly stirred by the description 
of the gallant defense of the attacked position — and for a 
time we were all at one, and could talk of nothing but 
Lawrence’s heroism, and Victoria crosses, and the pros- 
pects of peace. However, all too soon, the major’s fiend- 
ish temper returned, and he began to use the event of the 
day as a weapon against Derrick, continually taunting him 
with the contrast between his stay-at-home life of scrib- 
bling and Lawrence’s life of heroic adventure. I could 
never make out whether he wanted to goad his son into 
leaving him, in order that he might drink himself to death 
in peace, or whether he merely indulged in his natural love 
of tormenting, valuing Derrick’s devotion as conducive to 
his own comfort, and knowing that hard words would not 
drive him from what he deemed his duty. I rather incline 
to the latter view, but the old major was always an enigma 
to me; nor can I to this day make out his raison-d’ elre, 
excejDt on the theory that the training of a novelist re- 
quired a course of slow torture, and that the old man was 
sent into the world to be a sort of thorn in the flesh of 
Derrick. 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


61 


What with the disappointment about his first book, and 
the difficulty of writing his second, the fierce craving for 
Freda’s presence, the struggle not to allow his admiration 
for Lawrence’s bravery to become poisoned by envy under 
the influence of the major’s incessant attacks. Derrick had 
just then a hard time of it. He never complained, but I 
noticed a great change in him; his melancholy increased, 
his flashes of humor and merriment became fewer and 
fewer — I began to be afraid that he would break down. 

“ For God’s sake!” I exclaimed, one evening when left 
alone with the doctor after an evening of whist, “ do order 
the major to London. Derrick has been mewed up here 
with him for nearly two years, and I don’t think he can 
stand it much longer.” 

So the doctor kindly contrived to advise the major to 
consult a well-known London physician and to spend a 
fortnight in town, further suggesting that a month at Ben 
Rhydding might be enjoyable before settling down at Bath 
again for the winter. Luckily the major took to the idea, 
and just as Lawrence returned from the war Derrick and 
his father arrived in town. The change seemed likely to 
work well, and 1 was able now and then to release my 
friend and play cribbage with the old man for an hour or 
two while Derrick tore about London, interviewed his pub- 
Tisher, made researches into seventeenth-century documents 
at the British Museum, and somehow managed in his rapid 
way to acquire those glimpses of life and character which 
he afterward turned to such good account. All was grist 
that came to his mill, and at first the mere sight of his old 
home, London, seemed to revive him. Of course at the 


62 


DERRICK YAU GHAK — NOVELIST. 


very first opportunity he called at the Probyn’s, and we 
both of us had an invitation to go there on the following 
Wednesday to see the march-past of the troops and to 
lunch. Derrick was nearly beside himself at the prospect, 
for he knew that he should certainly meet Freda at last, 
and the mingled pain and bliss of being actually in the 
same place with her, yet as completely separated as if seas 
rolled between them, was beginning to try him terribly. 

Meantime Lawrence turned up again, greatly improved in 
every way by all that he had lived through, but rather too 
ready to fall in with his father’s tone toward Derrick. The 
relations between the two brothers— always a little peculiar 
—became more and more difficult, and the major seemed 
to enjoy pitting them against each other. 

At length the day of the review arrived. Derrick was 
not looking well, his eyes were heavy with sleeplessness, 
and the major had been unusually exasperating at break- 
fast that morning, so that he started with a jaded, worn- 
out feeling that would not wholly yield even to the excite- 
ment of this long-expected meeting with Freda. When he 
found himself in the great drawing-room at Lord Probyn’s 
house, amid a buzz of talk and a crowd of strange faces, 
he was seized with one of those sudden attacks of shyness 
to which he was always liable. In fact, he had been so 
long alone with the old major that this plunge into society 
was too great a reaction, and the very thing he had so 
longed for became a torture to him. 

Freda was at the other end of the room talking to Keith 
Collins, the well-known member for Codrington, whose 
curious but attractive face was known to all the world 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


63 


through the caricatures of it in “ Punch. ” 1 knew that 

she saw Derrick, and that he instantly perceived her and 
that a miserable sense of separation, of distance, of hope- 
lessness overwhelmed him as he looked. After all, it was 
natural enough. For two years he had thought of Freda 
night and day; in his unutterably dreary life her memory 
had been his refreshment, his solace, his companion. Now 
he was suddenly brought face to face, not with the Freda 
of his dreams, but with, a fashionable, beautifully dressed, 
much-sought girl, and he felt that a gulf lay between 
them; it was the gulf of experience. Freda’s life in so- 
ciety, the whirl of gayety, the excitement and success 
which she had been enjoying throughout the season, and 
his miserable monotony of companionship with his invalid 
father, of hard work and weary disappointment, had broken 
down the bond of union that had once existed between 
them. From either side they looked at each other — Freda 
with a wondering perplexity, Derrick with a dull grinding 
pain at his heart. 

Of course they spoke to each other; but I fancy the 
merest platitudes passed between them. Somehow they had 
lost touch and a crowded London drawing-room was hardly 
the place to regain it. 

“ So your novel is really out,” 1 heard her say to him in 
that deep, clear voice of hers. “ I like the design on the 
cover. ” 

“ Oh, have you read the book?” said Derrick, coloring. 

“ Well, no,” she said, truthfully. “ I wanted to read 
it, but my father wouldn’t let me — he is very particular 
about what we read. ’ ’ 


64 


DE11KICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


That frank but not very happily worded answer was like 
a stab to poor Derrick. He had given to the world, then, 
a book that was not fit for her to read. This 44 Lynwood,” 
which had been written with his own heart’s blood, was 
counted a dangerous, poisonous thing, from which she 
must be guarded. 

Freda must have seen that she had hurt him, for she 
tried hard to retrieve her words. 

44 It was tantalizing to have it actually in the house, 
wasn’t it? I have a grudge against 4 The Hour,’ for it was 
the review in that which set my father against it.” Then, 
rather anxious to leave the difficult subject — 44 And has 
your brother quite recovered from his wound?” 

1 think she was a little vexed that Derrick did not show 
more animation in his replies about Lawrence’s adventures 
during the war; the less he responded the more enthusias- 
tic she became, and I am perfectly sure that in her heart 
she was thinking: 

44 He is jealous of his brother’s fame — 1 am disappoint- 
ed in him. He has grown dull, and absent, and stupid, 
and he is dreadfully wanting in small-talk. I fear that his 
life down in the provinces is turning him into a bear.” 

She brought the conversation back to his book; but 
there was a little touch of scorn in her voice, as if she 
thought to herself : 44 1 suppose he is one of those people 
who can only talk on one subject— his own doings.” Her 
manner was almost brusque. 

44 Your novel has had a great success, has it not?” she 
asked. 


DERRICK YAUGHAK — NOVELIST. 


65 


He instantly perceived her thought, and replied with a 
touch of dignity and a proud smile: 

44 On the contrary, it has been a great failure; only three 
hundred and nine copies have been sold. ** 

44 I wonder at that/* said Freda, 44 for one so often hears 
it talked of.** 

He promptly changed the topic, and began to speak of 
the march-past. 44 I want to see Lord Starcross,** he add- 
ed. 44 I have no idea what a hero is like. ** 

Just then Lady Probyn came up, followed by an elderly 
harpy in spectacles and false, much-frizzed fringe. 

4 4 Mrs. Oarsteen wishes to be introduced to you, Mr. 
Vaughan; she is a great admirer of your writings.** 

And poor Derrick, who was then quite unused to the 
species, had to stand and receive a flood of the most ful- 
som flattery, delivered in a strident voice, and to bear the 
critical and prolonged stare of the spectacled eyes. Nor 
would the harpy easily release her prey. She kept him 
much against his will, and I saw him looking wistfully now 
and then toward Freda. 

44 It amuses me/* I said to her, 44 that Derrick Vaughan 
should be so anxious to see Lord Starcross. It reminds me 
of Charles Lamb’s anxiety to see Kosciusko, 4 for/ said he 
4 1 have never seen a hero; I wonder how they look/ while 
all the time he himself was living a life of heroic self-sacri- 
fice.** 

44 Mr. Vaughan, I should think, need only look at his 
own brother/* said Freda, missing the drift of my speech. 

1 longed to tell her what it was possible to tell of Der- 
rick’s life, but at that moment Sir Richard Merrifield in- 


66 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


troduced to his daughter a girl in a huge hat and great 
flopping sleeves. Miss Isaacson, whose picture at the Grosve- 
nor had been so much talked of. Now the little artist 
knew no one in the room, and Freda saw fit to be extreme- 
ly friendly to her. She was introduced to me, and I did 
my best to talk to her and set Freda at liberty as soon as 
the harpy had released Derrick; but my endeavors were 
frustrated, for Miss Isaacson, having looked me well over, 
decided that I was not at all intense, but a mere common- 
place, slightly cynical worldling, and having exchanged a 
few lukewarm remarks with me, she returned to Freda, 
and stuck to her like a bur for the rest of the time. 

We stood out on the balcony to see the troops go by. It 
was a fine sight, and we all became highly enthusiastic. 
Freda enjoyed the mere pageant like a child, and was de- 
lighted with the horses. She looked now more like the 
Freda of the yacht, and 1 wished that Derrick could be 
near her; but, as ill luck would have it, he was at some 
distance, hemmed in by an impassable barrier of eager 
spectators. 

Lawrence Vaughan rode past, looking wonderfully well 
in his uniform. He was riding a spirited bay, which took 
Freda’s fancy amazingly, though she reserved her chief en- 
thusiasm for Lord Starcross and his steed. It was not un- 
til all was over and we had returned to the drawing-room, 
that Derrick managed to get the talk with Freda for which 
I knew he was longing, and then they were fated, appar- 
ently, to disagree. I was standing near, and overheard the 
close of their talk. 

“ I do believe you must be a member of the Peace So- 


DERRICK VAUGHAH— HOVELIST. 


67 


ciety!" said Freda, impatiently. “ Or perhaps you have 
turned Quaker. But I want to introduce you to my god- 
father, Mr. Fleming; you know it was his son whom your 
brother saved. ” 

And I heard Derrick being introduced as the brother of 
the hero of Saspataras Hill; and the next day he received 
a card for one of Mrs. Fleming's receptions, Lawrence hav- 
ing jireviously been invited to dine there on the same night. 

"What happened at that party I never exactly understood. 
All I could gather was that Lawrence had been tremen- 
dously feted, that Freda had been present, and that poor old 
Derrick was as miserable as he could be when I next saw 
him. Putting two and two together, I guessed that he had 
been tantalized by a mere sight of her, possibly tortured by 
watching more favored men enjoying long Ute-a-Utes; but 
he would say little or nothing about it, and when, soon 
after, he and the major left London, I feared that the fort- 
night had done my friend harm instead of good. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Then in that hour rejoice, since only thus 
Can thy proud heart grow wholly piteous. 

Thus only to the world thy speech can flow 
Charged with the sad authority of woe. 

Since no man nurtured in the shade can sing 
To a true note one psalm of conquering; 

Warriors must chant it whom our own eyes see 
Red from the battle and more bruised than we, 

Men who have borne the worst, have known the whole, 

Have felt the last abeyance of the soul. 

F. W. H. Myers. 

About the beginning of August I rejoined him afc Ben 
Rhydding. The place suited the major admirably, and 


68 


DERRICK VAU G HAN — NOVELIST. 


his various baths took up so great a part of each day that 
Derrick had more time to himself than usual, and “ At 
Strife ” got on rapidly. He much enjoyed, too, the beau- 
tiful country round, while the hotel itself, with its huge 
gathering of all sorts and conditions of people, afforded 
him endless studies of character. The major breakfasted 
in his own room, and, being so much engrossed with his 
baths, did not generally appear till twelve. Derrick and 1 
breakfasted in the great dining-hall; and one morning, when 
the meal was over, we, as usual, strolled into the drawing- 
room to see if there were any letters awaiting us. . 

“ One for you,” I remarked, handing him a thick en- 
velope. 

“ From Lawrence!” he exclaimed. 

64 Well, don’t read it in here; the doctor will be coming 
to read prayers. Come out in the garden,” I said. 

We went out into the beautiful grounds, and he tore 
open the envelope and began to read his letter as we 
walked. All at once I felt the arm which was linked in 
mine give a quick involuntary movement, and, looking up, 
saw that Derrick had turned deadly pale. 

“What’s up?” I said. But he read on without reply- 
ing; and, when I paused and sat down on a sheltered 
rustic seat, he unconsciously followed my example, looking 
more like a sleep-walker than a man in the possession of 
all his faculties. At last he finished the letter, and looked 
up in a dazed, miserable way, letting his eyes wander over 
the fir-trees and the fragrant shrubs and the flowers by the 
path. 

“ Dear old fellow, what is the matter?” I asked. 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


69 


The words seemed to rouse him. 

A dreadful look passed over his face — the look of one 
stricken to the heart. But his voice was perfectly calm., 
and full of a ghastly self-control. 

“ Freda will be my sister-in-law,” he said, rather as if 
stating the fact to himself than answering my question. 

66 Impossible!” I said. “ What do you mean? How 
could — 99 

As if to silence me he thrust the letter into my hand. 
It ran as follows: 

“ Hear Derrick, — For the last few days 1 have been 
down at the Flemings* place in Derbyshire, and fortune 
has favored me, for the Merrifields are here too. Now 
prepare yourself for a surprise. Break the news to the 
governor, and send me your heartiest congratulations by 
return of post. I am engaged to Freda Merrifield, and am 
the happiest fellow in the world. They are awfully fastidi- 
ous sort of people, and 1 do not believe Sir Bichard would 
have consented to such a match had it not been for that 
lucky impulse which made me rescue Dick Fleming. It 
has all been arranged very quickly, as these things should 
be, but we have seen a good deal of each other — first at 
Aldershot the year before last, and just lately in town, 
and now these four days down here — and days in a coun- 
try-house are equal to weeks elsewhere. I inclose a letter 
to my father — give it to him at a suitable moment; but, 
after all, he is sure to approve of a daughter-in-law with 
such a dowry as Miss Merrifield is likely to have. 

“ Yours, affly, 

“Lawrence Vaughan.’* 


70 


DERRICK YAEGHAK — HOVELIST. 


1 gave him back the letter without a word. In dead 
silence we moved on, took a turning which led to a little 
narrow gate, and passed out of the grounds to the wild 
moorland country beyond. 

After ail, Freda was in no way to blame. As a mere 
girl she had allowed Derrick to see that she cared for him; 
then circumstances had entirely separated them; she saw 
more of the world, met Lawrence, was perhaps first at- 
tracted to him by his very likeness to Derrick, and finally 
fell in love with the hero of the season, whom every one 
delighted to honor. Nor could one blame Lawrence, who 
had no notion that he had supplanted his brother. All the 
blame lay with the major’s slavery to drink, for if only he 
had remained out in India I feel sure that matters would 
have gone quite differently. 

We tramped on over heather and ling and springy turf 
till we reached the old ruin known as the Hunting Tower; 
then Derrick seemed to awake to the recollection of pres- 
ent things. He looked at his watch. 

“ I must go back to my father/’ he said, for the first 
time breaking the silence. 

“ You shall do no such thing!” I cried. “ Stay out 
here, and I will see to the major, and give him the letter 
too if you like . 99 

He caught at the suggestion, and as he thanked me I 
think there were tears in his eyes. So I took the letter and 
set off for Ben Bhydding, leaving him to get what relief he 
could from solitude, space, and absolute quiet. Once I 
just glanced back, and somehow the scene has always lin- 
gered in my memory — the great stretch of desolate moor. 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


71 


the dull crimson of the heather, the lowering gray clouds, 
the Hunting Tower, a patch of deeper gloom against the 
gloomy sky, and Derrick's figure prostrate on the turf, 
the face hidden, the hands grasping at the sprigs of heather 
growing near. 

The major was just ready to be helped into the garden 
when 1 reached the hotel. We sat down in the very same 
place where Derrick had read the news, and when I judged 
it politic, 1 suddenly remembered with apologies the letter 
that had been intrusted to me. The old man received it 
with satisfaction, for he was fond of Lawrence and proud 
of him, and the news of the engagement pleased him 
greatly. He was still discussing it when, two hours later, 
Derrick returned. 

44 Here's good news!" said the major, glancing up as 
his son approached. 44 Trust Lawrence to fall on his feet! 
He tells me the girl will have a thousand a year. You 
know her, don't you? What's she like?" 

64 1 have met her," replied Derrick, with forced com- 
posure. 44 She is very charming." 

44 Lawrence has all his wits about him," growled 
the major. 44 Whereas you — " (several oaths inter- 
jected). 44 It will be a long while before any girl with a 
dowry will look at you! What women like is a bold man 
of action; what they despise, mere dabblers in pen and 
ink, writers of poisonous sensational tales such as yours! 
I'm quoting your own reviewers, so you needn't contradict 
me!" 

Of course no one had dreamed of contradicting; it would 
have been the worst possible policy. 


72 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


“ Shall I help you in?” said Derrick. 64 It is just din- 
ner-time.” 

And as I walked beside them to the hotel, listening to 
the major's flood of irritating words, and glancing now 
and then at Derrick's grave, resolute face, which success- 
fully masked such bitter suffering, 1 couldn't help reflect- 
ing that here was courage infinitely more deserving of the 
Victoria Cross than Lawrence's impulsive rescue. Very 
patiently he sat through the* long dinner. 1 doubt if any 
but an acute observer could have told that he was in 
trouble; and, luckily, the world in general observes hardly 
at all. He endured the major till it was time for him to 
take a Turkish bath, and then, having two hours' free- 
dom, climbed with me up the rock-covered hill at the back 
of the hotel. He was very silent. But I remember that, 
as we watched the sun go down — a glowing crimson ball, 
half veiled in gray mist — he said, abruptly, 44 If Law- 
rence makes her happy I can bear it. And of course I al- 
ways knew that I was not worthy of her.” 

Derrick's room was a large, gaunt, ghostly place in one 
of the towers of the hotel, and in one corner of it was a 
winding stair leading to the roof. When I went in next 
morning I found him writing away at his novel just as 
usual, but when I looked at him it seemed to me that the 
night had aged him fearfully. As a rule, he took inter- 
ruptions as a matter of course, and with perfect sweetness 
of tender; but to-day he seemed unable to drag himself 
back to the outer world. He was writing at a desperate 
pace too, and frowned when I spoke to him. I took up 
the sheet of foolscap which he had just finished and glanced 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


73 


at the number of the page — evidently he had written an 
immense quantity since the previous day. 

“ You will knock yourself up if you go on at this rate!” 
I exclaimed. 

“Nonsense!” he said, sharply. “You know it never 
tires me.” 

Yet, all the same, he passed his hand very wearily over 
his forehead, and stretched himself with the air of one who 
had been in a cramping position for many hours. 

“You have broken your vow!” I cried. “ You have 
been writing at night. ” 

“ No,” he said; “ it was morning when I began — three 
o’clock. And it pays better to get up and write than to 
lie awake thinking.” 

J udging by the speed with which the novel grew in the 
next few weeks, I could tell that Derrick’s nights were of 
the worst. 

He began, too, to look very thin and haggard, and I 
more than once noticed that curious “ sleep-walking” ex- 
pression in his eyes; he seemed to me just like a man who 
has received his death-blow, yet still lingers — half alive, 
half dead. I had an odd feeling that it was his novel 
which kept him going, and I began to wonder what would 
happen when it was finished. 

A month later, when I met him again at Bath he had 
written the last chapter of “At Strife,” and we read it 
over the sitting-room fire on the Saturday evening. I 
was very much struck with the book; it seemed to me a 
great advance on “ Lynwood’s Heritage,” and the part 
which he had written since that day at Ben Ilhydding was 


74 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


full of an indescribable power, as if the life of which he 
had been robbed had flowed into his work. When he had 
done, he tied up the MS. in his usual prosaic fashion, just 
as if it had been a bundle of clothes, and put it on a side 
table. 

It was arranged that I should take it to Davison — the 
publisher of “ Lynwood’s Heritage” — on Monday, and 
see what offer he would make for it. Just at that time I 
felt so sorry for Derrick that if he had asked me to hawk 
round fifty novels I would have done it. 

Sunday morning proved wet and dismal; as a rule the 
major, who was fond of music, attended service at the ab- 
bey, but the weather forced him now to stay at home. X 
myself was at that time no church-goer, but Derrick 
would, I verily believe, as soon have fasted a week as have 
given up a Sunday morning service; and having no mind 
to be left to the major’s company, and a sort of wish to be 
near my friend, I went with him. I believe it is not cor- 
rect to admire Bath Abbey, but for all that the lantern 
of the west 99 has always seemed to me a grand place; as 
for Derrick, he had a horror of a “ dim religious light,” 
and always stuck up for its huge windows, and I believe 
he loved the abbey with all his heart. Indeed, taking it 
only from a sensuous point of view, 1 could quite imagine 
what a relief he found his weekly attendance here; by con- 
trast with his home the place was Heaven itself. 

As we walked back 1 asked a question that had long 
been in my mind: “ Have you seen anything of Law- 
rence?” 

“ He saw us across London on our way from Ben Ehyd- 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


75 


cling/* said Derrick, steadily. “Freda came with him, 
and my father was delighted with her. ** 

I wondered how they had got through the meeting, but 
of course my curiosity had to go unsatisfied. Of one thing 
I might be certain, namely, that Derrick had gone through 
with it like a Trojan, that he had smiled and congratu- 
lated in his quiet way, and had done his best to efface him- 
self and think only of Freda. But as every one knows — 

“ Face joy’s a costly mask to wear, 

’Tis bought with pangs long nourished 
And rounded to despair,” 

and he looked now even more worn and old than he had 
done at Ben Ehydding in the first days of his trouble. 

However, he turned resolutely away from the subject I 
had introduced and began to discuss titles for his novel. 

“ It*s impossible to find anything new/* he said, “ ab- 
solutely impossible. 1 declare 1 shall take to numbers.** 

I laughed at this prosaic notion, and we were still dis- 
cussing the title when we reached home. 

“ Don*t say anything about it at lunch/* he said as we 
entered. “ My father detests my writing.** 

I nodded assent and opened the sitting-room door — a 
strong smell of brandy instantly became apparent; *the 
major sat in the green velvet chair, which had been 
wheeled close to the hearth. He was drunk. 

Derrick gave an ejaculation of utter hopelessness. 

“ This will undo all the good of Ben Ehydding!** he 
said. “ How on earth has he managed to get it?** 

The major, however, was not so far gone as he looked; 


76 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


lie caught up the remark and turned toward us with a 
hideous laugh. 

“ Ah, yes,” he said, “ that’s the question. But the old 
man lias still some brains, you see. I’ll be even with you 
yet. Derrick. You needn’t think you’re to have it all 
your own way. It’s my turn now. You’ve deprived me 
all this time of the only thing I care for in life, and now 1 
turn the tables on you. Tit for tat. Oh! yes, I’ve turned 

your d d scribblings to a useful purpose, so you needn’t 

complain!” 

All this had been shouted out at the top of his voice and 
freely interlarded with expressions which I will not repeat; 
at the end he broke again into a laugh, and with a look, 
half idiotic, half devilish, pointed toward the grate. 

“ Good heavens!” I said, “ what have you done?” 

By the side of the chair I saw a piece of brown paper, 
and catching it up, read the address — “ Messrs. Davidson, 
Paternoster Bow ” — in the fire-place was a huge charred 
mass. Derrick caught his breath; he stooped down and 
snatched from the fender a fragment of paper slightly 
burned, but still not charred beyond recognition like the 
rest. The writing was quite legible — it was his own writ- 
ing — the description of the Boyalists’ attack, and Paul 
Wharncliffe’s defense of the bridge. I looked from the 
half -burned scrap of paper to the side-table where, only 
the previous night, he had placed the novel, and then, 
realizing as far as any but an author could realize the 
frightful thing that had happened, 1 looked in Derrick’s 
face. It’s white fury appalled me. What he had borne 
hitherto from the major, God only knows, but this was the 


lmnUCK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


77 


last drop in the cup. Daily insults, ceaseless provocation, 
even the humiliation of personal violence he had borne 
with superhuman patience; but this last injury, this wan- 
tonly cruel outrage, this deliberate destruction of an 
amount of thought, and labor, and suffering which only 
the writer himself could fully estimate — this was intoler- 
able. 

What might have happened had the major been sober 
and in the possession of ordinary physical strength I hardly 
care to think. As it was, his weakness protected him. 
Derrick's wraf& was speechless; with one look of loathing 
and contempt at the drunken man, he strode out of the 
room, caught up his hat, and hurried from the house. 

The major sat chuckling to himself for a minute or two, 
but soon he grew drowsy, and before long was snoring like 
a grampus. The old landlady brought in lunch, saw the 
state of things pretty quickly, shook her head and com- 
miserated Derrick. Then, when she had left the room, 
seeing no prospect that either of my companions would be 
in a fit state for lunch, I made a solitary meal, and had 
just finished when a cab stopped at the door, and out 
sprung Derrick. I went into the passage to meet him. 

“ The major is asleep," 1 remarked. 

He took no more notice than if 1 had spoken of the cat. 

“ I'm going to London," he said, making for the stairs. 
“ Can you get your bag ready? There's a train at two- 
five." 

Somehow the suddenness and the self-control with which 
he made this announcement carried me back to the hotel 
at Southampton, where, after listening to the account of 


78 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


the ship’s doctor, he had announced his intention of living 
with his father. For more than two years he had borne 
this awful life; he had lost pretty nearly all that there was 
to be lost, and he had gained the major’s vindictive hatred. 
Now, half maddened by pain, and having, as he thought, 
so hopelessly failed, he saw nothing for it but to go — and 
that at once. 

I packed my bag, and then went to help him. He was 
cramming all his possessions into portmanteaus and boxes; 
the Holfmann was already packed, and the wall looked 
curiously bare without it. Clearly this v%s no visit to 
London — he was leaving Bath for good, and who could 
wonder at it? 

“ I have arranged for the attendant from the hospital to 
come in at night as well as in the morning,” he said, as he 
locked a portmanteau that was stuffed almost to bursting. 
“ What’s the time? We must make haste or we shall lose 
the train. Do, like a good fellow, cram that heap of 
things into the carpet-bag while I speak to the landlady.” 

At last we were off, rattling through the quiet streets of 
Bath, and reaching the station barely in time to rush up 
the long flight of stairs and spring into an -empty carriage. 
Never shall. I forget that journey. The train stopped at 
every single station, and sometimes in between; we were 
five mortal hours on the road, and ' more than once 1 
thought Derrick would have fainted. However, he was 
not of the fainting order, he only grew more and more 
ghastly in color and rigid in expression. 

I felt very anxious about him, for the shock and the 
sudden anger following on the trouble about Freda seemed 


DERRICK YAUGHAH — KOVELIST. 


79 


to me enough to unhinge even a less sensitive nature. 
“ At Strife ” was the novel which had, I firmly believe, 
kept him alive through that awful time at Ben Rhydding, 
and I began to fear that the major’s fit of drunken malice 
might prove the destruction of the author as well as of the 
book. Everything had, as it were, come at once on poor 
Derrick; yet 1 don’t know that he fared worse than other 
people in this respect. 

Life, unfortunately, is for most of us no well-arranged 
story with a happy termination; it is a checkered affair of 
shade and sun, and for one beam of light there come very 
often wide patches of shadow. Men seem to have known 
this so far back as Shakespeare’s time, and to have ob- 
served that one woe trod on another’s heels, to have bat- 
tled not with a single wave, but with a “ sea of troubles,” 
and to have remarked that 4 4 sorrows come not singly, but 
in battalions.” 

However, owing I believe chiefly to his own self-com- 
mand, and to his untiring faculty for taking infinite pains 
over his work. Derrick did not break down, but pleasantly 
cheated my expectations. I was not called on to nurse 
him through a fever, and consumption did not mark him 
for her own. In fa^t, in the matter of illness, he was 
always the most prosaic, unromantic fellow, and never in- 
dulged in any of the euphonious and interesting ailments. 
In all his life, I believe, he never went in for anything but 
the mumps — of all complaints the least interesting — and, 
may be, an occasional headache. 

However, all this is a digression. We at length reached 
London, and Derrick took a room above mine, now and 


80 


DEEBICK YAUGHAK — NOVELIST. 


then disturbing me with nocturnal pacings over the creak- 
ing boards, but, on the whole, proving himself the best of 
companions. 

If I wrote till Doomsday, I could never make you under- 
stand how the burning of his novel affected him — to this 
day it is a subject I instinctively avoid with him— -though 
the rewritten “ At Strife ” has been such a grand success. 
For he did rewrite the story, and that at once. He said 
little; but the very next morning, in one of the windows 
of our quiet sitting-room, often enough looking out despair- 
ingly at the gray monotony of Montague Street, he began 
at 64 Page 1, Chapter I./’ and so worked patiently on for 
many months to remake as far as he could what his 
drunken father had maliciously destroyed. Beyond the 
unburned paragraph about the attack on Mondisfield, he 
had nothing except a few hastily scribbled ideas in his 
note-book, and of course the very elaborate and careful 
historical notes which he had made on the Civil War, dur- 
ing many years of reading and research — for this period 
had always been a favorite study with him. 

But, as any author will understand, the effort of rewrit- 
ing was immense, and this, combined with all the other 
troubles, tried Derrick to the utmost. However, he toiled 
on, and I have always thought that his resolute, unyielding 
conduct with regard to that book proved what a man ho 


was. 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


81 


CHAPTER V11L 

How oft Fate’s sharpest blow shall leave thee strong, 

With some rerisen ecstasy of song. 

F. W. H. Myers. 

As the autumn wore on, we heard now and then from 
old Mackrill the doctor. His reports of the major were 
pretty uniform. Derrick used to hand them over to me 
when he had read them; but, by tacit consent, the major's 
name was never mentioned. 

Meantime, besides rewriting “ At Strife," he was ac- 
cumulating material for his next book and working to very 
good purpose. Not a minute of his day was idle; he read 
much, saw various phases of life hitherto unknown to him, 
studied, observed, gained experience, and contrived, I be- 
lieve, to think very little and very guardedly of Freda. 

But, on Christmas-eve, 1 noticed a change in him — and 
that very night he spoke to me. For such an impression- 
able fellow, he had really extraordinary tenacity, and, 
spite of the course of Herbert Spencer that I had put him 
through, he retained his unshaken faith in many things 
which to me were at that time the merest legends. 1 re- 
member very well the arguments we used to have on the 
vexed question of “Free-will," and being myself more or 
less of a fatalist, it annoyed me that I never could in the 
very slightest degree shake his convictions on that point. 
Moreover, when I plagued him too much with Herbert 
Spencer, he had a way of retaliating, and would foist upon 
me his favorite authors. He was never a worshiper of any 


82 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


one writer, but always had at least a dozen prophets in 
whose praise he was enthusiastic. 

Well, on this Christmas-eve, we had been to see dear old 
Eavenscroft and his granddaughter, and we were walking 
back through the quiet precincts of the Temple, when he 
said, abruptly: 

“ 1 have decided to go back to Bath to-morrow.” 

“ Have you had a worse account?” I asked, much 
startled at this sudden announcement. 

“ No,” he replied; “ but the one I had a week ago was 
far from good, if you remember, and I have a feeling that 
I ought to be there.” 

At that moment we emerged into the confusion of Fleet 
Street; but when we had crossed the road I began to re- 
monstrate with him, and argued the folly of the idea all 
the way down Chancery Lane. 

However, there was no shaking his purpose; Christmas 
and its associations had made his life in town no longer 
possible for him. 

“ I must at any rate try it again and see how it works,” 
he said. 

And all I could do was to persuade him to leave the bulk 
of his possessions in London, “in case,” as he remarked, 
“ the major would not have him.” 

So the next day I was left to myself again with nothing 
to remind me of Derrick’s stay but his pictures which still 
hung on the wall of our sitting-room. I made him prom- 
ise to write a full, true, and particular account of his re- 
turn, a bond-fide old-fashioned letter, not the half dozen 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


83 


lines of these degenerate days; and about a week later I re- 
ceivd the following budget: 

44 Dear Sydney, — I got down to Bath all right, and, 
thanks to your 4 Study of Sociology/ endured a slow and 
cold and dull and depressing journey with the thermometer 
down to zero, and spirits to correspond, with the country a 
monotonous white, and the sky a monotonous gray, and a 
companion who smoked the vilest tobacco you can con- 
ceive. The old place looks as beautiful as ever, and to my 
great satisfaction the hills round about are green. Snow, 
save in pictures, is an abomination. Milsom Street looked 
asleep, and Gay Street decidedly dreary, but the inhabitants 
were roused by my knock, and the old landlady nearly 
shook my hand off. My father has an attack of jaundice 
and is in a miserable state. He was asleep when I got 
here, and the good old landlady, thinking the front sitting- 
room would be free, had invited 4 company/ i. e ., two or 
three married daughters and their belongings; one of the 
children beats Magnay’s 4 Carina ? as to beauty — he ought 
to paint her. Happy thought, send him and pretty Mrs. 
Esperance down here on spec. He can paint the child for 
the next Academy, and meantime I could enjoy his com- 
pany. Well, all these good folks being just set-to at roast 
beef, I naturally wouldn't hear of disturbing them, and in 
the end was obliged to sit down too and eat at that hour of 
the day the hugest dinner you ever saw — anything but vo- 
racious appetites offended the hostess. Magnay's future 
model, for all its angelic face, 4 ate to repletion ' like the 
fair American in the story. Then 1 went into my father's 


84 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


room, and shortly after he woke up and asked me to give 
him some Friedrichshall water, making no comment at all 
on my return, but just behaving as though I had been here 
all the autumn, so that I felt as if the whole affair were a 
dream. Except for this attack of jaundice, he has been 
much as usual, and when you next come down you will 
find us settled into our old groove. The quiet of it after 
London is extraordinary. But I believe it suits the book, 
which gets on pretty fast. This afternoon I went uj) Lans- 
down and right on past the Grand Stand to Prospect Stile, 
which is at the edge of a high bit of table-land, and looks 
over a splendid stretch of country, with the Bristol Chan- 
nel and the Welsh hills in the distance. While I was there 
the sun most considerately set in gorgeous array. You 
never saw anything like it. It was worth the journey from 
London to Bath, I can assure you. Tell Magnay, and may 
it lure him down; also name the model aforementioned. 

“ How is the old Q. C. and his pretty grandchild? That 
quaint old room of theirs in the Temple somehow took my 
fancy, and the child was divine. Do you remember my 
showing you, in a gloomy narrow street here, a jolly old 
watchmaker who sits in his shop-window and is forever 
bending over sick clocks and watches? Well; he*s still sit- 
ting there, as if he had never moved since we saw him that 
Saturday months ago. I mean to study him for a por- 
trait; his sallow, clean-shaved, wrinkled face has a whole 
story in it. I believe he is married to a Xanthippe who 
throws cold water over him, both literally and metaphorical- 
ly; but he is a philosopher — Fll stake my reputation as an 
observer on that — he just shrugs his sturdy old shoulders. 


DERKICK VAUGIIAN— NOVELIST. 


'85 


and goes on mending clocks and watches. On dark days 
lie works by a gas-jet — and then Kembrandt would enjoy 
painting him. I look at him whenever my world is par- 
ticularly awry, and find him highly beneficial. Davison 
has forwarded me to-day two letters from readers of 4 Lyn- 
wood. 9 The first is from an irate female who takes me to 
task for the dangerous tendency of the story, and insists 
that I have drawn impossible circumstances and impossible 
characters. The second is from an old clergyman, who 
writes a pathetic letter of thanks, and tells me that it is 
almost word for word the story of a son of his who died five 
years ago. Query: shall I send the irate female the old 
man's letter, and save myself the trouble of writing? But, 
on the whole, I think not, it would be pearls before swine. 
I will write to her myself. Glad to see you whenever you 
can run down. 

44 Yours ever, 

44 D. Y. 

4 4 ( Never struck me before what pious initials mine 
are.)" 

The very evening 1 received this letter I happened to be 
dining at the Probyns'. As luck would have it, pretty 
Miss Freda was staying in the house, and she fell to my 
share. I always liked her, though of late I had felt rather 
angry with her for being carried away by the general storm 
of admiration and swept by it into an engagement with 
Lawrence Vaughan. She was a very pleasant, natural sort 
of talker, and she always treated me as an old friend. But 
she seemed to me, that night, a little less satisfied than 
usual with life. Perhaps it was merely the effect of the 


86 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


black lace dress which she wore, but I fancied her paler and 
thinner, and somehow she seemed all eyes. 

“ Where is Lawrence now?” I asked, as we went down 
to the dining-room. 

“ He is stationed at Dover,” she replied. “ He was up 
here for a few hours yesterday; he came to say good-bye to 
me, for 1 am going to Bath next Monday with my father, 
who has been very rheumatic lately — and you know Bath 
is coming into fashion again; all the doctors recommend 
it.” 

“ Major Vaughan is there,” I said, “ and has found the 
waters very good, I believe; any day, at twelve o’clock, 
you may see him getting out of his chair and going into 
the Pump Boom on Derrick’s arm. I often wonder what 
outsiders think of them. It isn’t often, is it, that one sees 
a son absolutely giving up his life to his invalid father?” 

She looked a little startled. 

“ I wish Lawrence could be more with Major Vaughan,” 
she said; “ f or he is his father’s favorite. You see he is 
such a good talker, and Derrick — well, he is absorbed in 
his books; and then he has such extravagant notions about 
war, he must be a very uncongenial companion to the poor 
major.” 

I devoured turbot in wrathful silence. Freda glanced at 
me. 

“It is true, isn’t it, that he has quite given up his life 
to writing and cares for nothing else?” 

“ Well, he has deliberately sacrificed his best chance of 
success by leaving London and burying himself in the 
provinces,” I replied, dryly; “and as to caring for noth- 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


87 


ing but writing, why he never gets more than two or three 
hours a day for it.” And then I gave her a minute ac- 
count of his daily routine. 

She began to look troubled. 

44 I have been misled,” she said; 44 I had gained quite a 
wrong impression of him.” 

44 Very few people know anything at all about him/’ I 
said, warmly; 44 you are not alone in that.” 

44 I suppose his next novel is finished now?” said Freda; 
44 he told me he had only one or two more chapters to 
write when 1 saw him a few months ago on his way from 
Ben Bhydding. What is he writing now?” 

44 He is writing that novel over again,” I replied. 

44 Over again? What fearful waste of time?” 

44 Yes, it has cost him hundreds of hours’ work; it just 
shows what a man he is that he has gone through with it 
so bravely. ” 

44 But how do you mean? Didn’t it do?” 

Bashly, perhaps, yet 1 think unavoidably, I told her the 
truth. 

44 It was the best thing he had ever written, but un- 
fortunately it was destroyed, burned to a cinder. That 
was not very pleasant, was it, for a man who never makes 
two copies of his work?” 

44 It was frightful!” said Freda, her eyes dilating. 44 1 
never heard a word about it. Does Lawrence know?” 

44 No, he does not; and perhaps I ought not to have told 
you, but I was annoyed at your so misunderstanding Der- 
rick. Pray never mention the affair, he would wish it 
kept perfectly quiet.” 


88 


DERRICK VAUGHAK — NOVELIST. 


“ Why?” asked Freda, turning her clear eyes full upon 
mine. 

“ Because, ” 1 said, lowering my voice, “ because his 
father burned it.” 

She almost gasped. 

“ Deliberately?” 

“ Yes, deliberately,” I replied. “ His illness has affect- 
ed his temper, and he is sometimes hardly responsible for 
his actions.” 

“ Oh, I knew that he was irritable and hasty and that 
Derrick annoyed him. Lawrence told me that, long ago,” 
said Freda. “ But that he should have done such a thing 
as that! It is horrible! Poor Derrick, how sorry I am for 
him! I hope we shall see something of them at Bath. 
Do you know how the major is?” 

“ I had a letter about him from Derrick only this even- 
ing,” I replied, “ if you care to see it, I will show it you 
later on.” 

And by and by, in the drawing-room, I put Derrick's 
letter into her hands, and explained to her how for a few 
months he had given up his life at Bath, in despair, but 
now had returned. 

“ I don't think Lawrence can understand the state of 
things,” she said, wistfully. “ And yet he has been down 
there.” 

“ I made no reply, and Freda, with a sigh, turned away. 

A month later I went down to Bath and found, as my 
friend foretold, everything going on in the oid groove, ex- 
cept that Derrick himself had an odd, strained look about 
him, as if he were fighting a foe beyond his strength. 


DERRICK VAUGHA N — NOVELIST. 


89 


Freda's arrival at Bath had been very hard on him, it was 
almost more than he could endure. Sir Richard, blind as 
a bat, of course, to anything below the surface made a 
point of seeing something of Lawrence's brother. And 
on the day of my arrival Derrick and I had hardly set out 
for a walk when we ran across the old man. 

Sir Richard, though rheumatic in the wrists, was nimble 
of foot and an inveterate walker. He was going with his 
daughter to see over Beckford's Tower, and invited us to 
accompany him. Derrick, much against the grain, I 
fancy, had to talk to Freda, who, in her winter furs and 
close-fitting velvet hat, looked more fascinating than ever, 
while the old man descanted to me on Bath waters, an- 
tiquities, etc., in a long-winded way that lasted all up the 
hill. We made our way into the cemetery and mounted 
the tower stairs, thinking of the past when this dreary 
place had been so gorgeously furnished. Here Derrick con- 
trived to get ahead with Sir Richard, and Freda lingered 
in a sort of alcove with me. 

“ I have been so wanting to see you," she said, in an 
agitated voice. “ Oh, Mr. Wharncliffe, is it true what I 
have heard about the major? Does he drink?" 

“ Who told your" I said, a little embarrassed. 

fc£ It was our landlady," said Freda; “ she is the daugh- 
ter of the major's landlady. And you should hear what 
she says of Derrick! Why, he must be a downright hero! 
All the time I have been half despising him " — she choked 
back a sob — “ he has been trying to save his father from 
what was certain death to him — so they told me. Do you 
think it is true?" 


90 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


44 1 know it is/' 1 replied, gravely. 

4 4 And about his arm — was that true?" 

I signed an assent. 

Her gray eyes grew moist. 

44 Oh/’ she cried, 44 how I have been deceived, and how 
little Lawrence appreciates him! I think he must know 
that I've misjudged him, for he seems so odd and shy, and 
I don't think he likes to talk to me." 

I looked searchingly into her truthful gray eyes, think- 
ing of poor Derrick's unlucky love-story. 

44 You do not understand him," I said; 44 and perhaps it 
is best so." 

But the words and the look were rash, for all at once 
the color flooded her face. She turned quickly away, con- 
scious at last that the midsummer dream of those yachting 
days had to Derrick been no dream at all, but a life-long 
reality. 

I felt very sorry for Freda, for she was not at all the 
sort of girl who would glory in having a fellow hopelessly 
in love with her. I knew that the discovery she had made 
would be nothing but a sorrow to her, and could guess 
how she would reproach herself for that innocent past 
fancy, which, till now, had seemed to her so faint and far- 
away — almost as something belonging to another life. 
All at once we heard the others descending, and she 
turned to me with such a frightened, appealing look, that 
I could not possibly have helped going to the rescue. I 
plunged abruptly into a discourse on Beckford, and told her 
how he used to keep diamonds in a tea-cup, and amused 
himself by arranging them on a piece of velvet. Sir Rich- 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


91 


ard fled from the sound of my prosy voice, and, needless 
to say. Derrick followed him. We let them get well in 
advance, and then followed, Freda silent and distraite , 
but every now and then asking a question about the major. 

As for Derrick, evidently he was on guard. He saw a 
good deal of the Merrifields and was sedulously attentive to 
them in many small ways; but with Freda he was curious- 
ly reserved, and if by chance they did walk together, he 
took good care to bring Lawrence’s name into the con- 
versation. On the whole, I believe loyalty was his strong- 
est characteristic, and want of loyalty in others tried him 
more severely than anything in the world. 

As the spring wore on, it became evident to every one 
that the major could not last long. His son’s watchful-* 
ness and the enforced temperance which the doctors insist- 
ed on had prolonged his life to a certain extent, but gradu- 
ally his sufferings increased and his strength diminished. 
At last he kept his bed altogether. 

What Derrick bore at this time no one can ever know. 
When, one bright sunshiny Saturday, 1 went down to see 
how he was getting on, I found him worn and haggard, 
too evidently paying the penalty of sleepless nights and 
thankless care. I was a little shocked to hear that Law- 
rence had been summoned, but when I was taken into the 
sick-room I realized that they had done wisely to send for 
the favorite son. 

The major was evidently dying. 

Never can 1 forget the cruelty and malevolence with 
which his blood-shot eyes rested on Derrick, or the patience 
with which the dear old fellow bore his father’s scathing 


92 


DERRICK VAUGHAK- — KOVELIST. 


sarcasms. It was while 1 was sitting by the bed that the 
landlady entered with a telegram, which she put into Der- 
rick’s hand. 

“From Lawrence!” said the dying man triumphantly, 
“ to say by what train we may expect him. Well?” as 
Derrick still read the message to himself; “can’t you 

speak, you d d idiot? Have you lost your d d 

tongue? What does he say?” 

“I am afraid he can not be here just yet,” said Der- 
rick, trying to tone down the curt message; “ it seems he 
can not get leave. ” 

“ Not get leave to see his dying father? What con- 
founded nonsense. Give me the thing here;” and he 
snatched the telegram from Derrick and read it in a quav- 
ering, hoarse voice: 

“Impossible to get away. Am hopelessly tied here. 
Love to my father. Greatly regret to hear such bad news 
of him. ” 

I think that message made the old man realize the worth 
of Lawrence’s often expressed affection for him. Clearly it 
was a great blow to him. He threw down the paper with- 
out a word and closed his eyes. For half an hour he lay 
like that, and we did not disturb him. At last he looked 
up; his voice was fainter and his manner more gentle. 

“ Derrick,” he said, “ I believe I’ve done you an injus- 
tice; it is you who care for me, not Lawrence, and I’ve 
struck your name out of my will— have left all to him. 
After all, though you are one of those confounded novelists, 
you’ve done what you could for me. Let some one fetch 
a solicitor — I’ll alter it — I’ll alter it!” 


DERRICK VAUGHAK — NOVELIST. 


93 


I instantly hurried out to fetch a lawyer, but it was Sat- 
urday afternoon, the offices were closed, and some time 
passed before I had caught my man. 1 told him as we 
hastened back some of the facts of the case, and lie 
brought his writing materials into the sick-room and took 
down from the major’s own lips the words which would 
have the effect of dividing the old man’s possessions be- 
tween his two sons. Dr. Mackrill was now present; he 
stood on one side of the bed, his fingers on the dying man’s 
pulse. On the other side stood Derrick, a degree paler and 
graver than usual, but revealing little of his real feelings. 

“ Word it as briefly as you can,” said the doctor. 

And the lawyer scribbled away as though for his life, 
while the rest of us waited in a wretched hushed state of 
tension. In the room itself there was no sound save the 
scratching of the pen and the labored breathing of the old 
man; but in the next house we could hear some one play- 
ing a waltz. Somehow it did not seem to me incongru- 
ous, for it was “ Sweethearts,” and that had been the 
favorite waltz at Ben Bhydding, so that I always connect- 
ed it with Derrick and his trouble, and now the words 
rang in my ears — 

“ Oh, love for a year, a week, a day, 

But alas! for the love that loves alway.” 

If it had not been for the major’s return from India, I 
firmly believed that Derrick and Freda would by this time 
have been betrothed. Derrick had taken a line which 
necessarily divided them, had done what he saw to be his 
duty; yet what were the results? He had lost Freda, he 


94 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


had lost his book, he had damaged his chance of success as 
a writer, he had been struck out of his father’s will, and he 
had suffered unspeakably. Had anything whatever been 
gained? The major was dying unrepentant to all appear- 
ance, as hard and cynical an old worldling as I ever saw. 
The only spark of grace he showed was that tardy endeavor 
to make a fresh will. What good had it all been? What 
good? 

I could not answer the question then, could only cry out 
in a sort of indignation, “ What profit is there in his 
blood?” But looking at it now, I have a sort of percep- 
tion that the very lack of apparent profitableness was part 
of Derrick’s training, while if, as I now incline to think, 
there is a hereafter where the training began here is con- 
tinued, the old major in the hell he most richly deserved 
would have the remembrance of his son’s patience and con- 
stancy and devotion to serve as a guiding light in the outer 
darkness. 

The lawyer no longer wrote at railroad speed; he pushed 
back his chair, brought the will to the bed, and placed the 
pen in the trembling yellow hand of the invalid. 

“You must sign your name here,” he said, pointing 
with his finger; and the major raised himself a little’, and 
brought the pen quaveringly down toward the paper. 
With a sort of fascination I watched the finely pointed 
steel nib; it trembled for an instant or two, then the pen 
dropped from the convulsed fingers, and with a cry of in- 
tolerable anguish the major fell back. 

For some minutes there was a painful struggle; present- 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


95 


ly we caught a word or two between the groans of the 
dying man. 

“ Too late!” he gasped, “ too late!” and then a dread- 
ful vision of horrors seemed to rise before him, and with a 
terror that I can never forget he turned to his son and 
clutched fast hold of his hands: 44 Derrick!” he shrieked. 

Derrick could not speak, but he bent low over the bed 
as though to screen the dying eyes from those horrible vis- 
ions, and with an odd sort of thrill I saw him embrace his 
father. 

When he raised his head the terror had died out of the 
major's face; all was over. 


CHAPTER IX. 


To duty firm, to conscience true, 

However tried and pressed, 

In God’s clear sight high work we do, 

If we but do our best. 

W. Gaskell. 


Lawrence came down to the funeral, and 1 took good 
care that he should hear all about his father's last hours, 
and I made the solicitor show him the unsigned will. He 
made hardly any comment on it till we three were alone 
together. Then with a sort of kindly patronage he turned 
to his brother — Derrick, it must be remembered, was the 
elder twin — and said pityingly, 4 ‘ Poor old fellow! it was 
rather rough on you that the governor couldn't sign this; 
but never mind, you'll soon, no doubt, be earning a fort- 
une by your books; and besides, what does a bachelor want 
with more than you've already inherited from our moth- 


96 DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 

er? Whereas, an officer just going to be married, and 
with this confounded reputation of hero to keep up, why, 
I can tell you he needs every penny of it. ” 

Derrick looked at his brother searchingly. 1 honestly 
believe that he didn’t very much care about the money, 
but it cut him to the heart that Lawrence should treat 
him so shabbily. The soul of generosity himself, he could 
not understand how any one could frame a speech so in- 
fernally mean. 

“ Of course,” I broke in, “ if Derrick liked to go to law 
he could no doubt get his rights; there are three witnesses 
who can prove what was the major’s real wish.” 

“ I shall not go to law,” said Derrick, with a dignity of 
which I had hardly imagined him capable. “ You spoke 
of your marriage, Lawrence; is it to be soon?” 

“ This autumn, 1 hope,” said Lawrence; “ at least, if I 
can overcome Sir Eichard’s ridiculous notion that a girl 
ought not to marry till she’s twenty -one. He’s a most 
crotchety old fellow, that future father-in-law of mine.” 

When Lawrence had first come back from the war I 
had thought him wonderfully improved, but a long course 
of spoiling and flattery had done him a world of harm. 
He liked very much to be lionized, and to see him now 
posing in drawing-rooms, surrounded by a worshiping 
throng of women, was enough to sicken any sensible be- 
ing. 

As for Derrick, though he could not be expected to feel 
his bereavement in the ordinary way, yet his father’s death 
had been a gerat shock to him. It was arranged that after 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


97 


settling various matters in Bath, he should go down to stay 
with his sister for a time, joining me in Montague Street 
later on. While he was away at Birmingham, however, 
an extraordinary change came into my humdrum life, and 
when he rejoined me a few weeks later, 1 — selfish brute — 
was so overwhelmed with the trouble that had befallen me 
# that I thought very little indeed of his affairs. He took 
this quite as a matter of course, and what I should have 
done without him I can’t conceive. However, this story 
concerns him and has nothing to do with my extraordinary 
dilemma; I merely mention it as a fact which brought ad- 
ditional cares into his life. All the time he was doing 
what could be done to help me he was also going through 
a most baffling and miserable time among the publishers; 
for 44 At Strife,” unlike its predecessor, was rejected by 
Davison and by five other houses. Think of this, you 
comfortable readers, as you lie back in your easy- chairs 
and leisurely turn the pages of that popular story. The 
book which represented years of study and long hours of 
hard w T ork was first burned to a cinder. It was rewritten 
with what infinite pains and toil few can understand. It 
was then six times tied up and carried with anxiety and 
hope to a publisher’s office, only to reappear six times in 
Montague Street, an unwelcome visitor, bringing with it 
depression and disappointment. 

Derrick said little, but suffered much. However, noth- 
ing daunted him. When it came back from the sixth pub- 
lisher he took it to a seventh, then returned and wrote 
away like a Trojan at his third book. The one thing that 
never failed him was that curious consciousness that he 

4 


08 


DERRICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


had to write; like the prophets of old,, the 44 burden” 
came to him, and speak it he must. 

The seventh publisher wrote a somewhat dubious letter; 
the book he thought had great merit, but unluckily people 
were prejudiced, and historical novels rarely met with suc- 
cess. 

However, he was willing to take the story, and offer- 
ed half profits, candidly admitting that he had no great 
hopes of a large sale. Derrick instantly closed with this 
offer, proofs came in, the book appeared, was well received 
like its predecessor, fell into the hands of one of the 
leaders of society, and, to the intense surprise of the pub- 
lisher, proved to be the novel of the year. Speedily a 
second edition was called for; then, after a brief interval, 
a third edition — this time a rational one-volume affair; and 
the whole lot — 6,000 I believe— -went off on the day of 
publication. Derrick was amazed; but he enjoyed his suc- 
cess very heartily, and 1 think no one could say that he 
had leaped into fame at a bound. 

Having devoured 44 At Strife,” people began to discover 
the merits of 44 Lynwood’s Heritage;” the libraries were 
besieged for it, and a cheap edition was hastily published, 
and another and another, till the book, which at first had 
been such a dead failure, rivaled 44 At Strife.” Truly an 
author’s career is a curious thing; and precisely why the 
first book failed, and the second succeeded, no one could 
explain. 

It amused me very much to see Derrick turned into a 
lion; he was so essentially un-lionlike. People were for- 
ever asking him how he worked, and I remember a very 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


99 


pretty girl setting upon him once at a dinner-party with 
the embarrassing request: 

“ Now do tell me, Mr. Vaughan, how do you write your 
stories? 1 wish you would give me a good receipt for a 
novel.” 

Derrick hesitated uneasily for a minute; finally, with a 
humorous smile, said: 

“ Well, I can’t exactly tell you, because, more or less, 
novels grow; but if you want a receipt, you might perhaps 
try after this fashion: Conceive your hero, add a sprink- 
ling of friends and relatives, flavor with whatever scenery 
or local color you please, carefully consider what circum- 
stances are most likely to develop your man into the best 
he is capable of, allow the whole to simmer in your brain 
as long as you can, and then serve, while hot, with ink 
upon white or blue foolscap, according to taste.” 

The young lady applauded the receipt, but she sighed a 
little, and probably relinquished all hope of concocting a 
novel herself; on the whole, it seemed to involve incessant 
taking of trouble. 

About this time I remember too another little scene, 
which I enjoyed amazingly. I laugh now when I think of 
it. 1 happened to be at a huge evening crush, and, rather 
to my surprise, came across Lawrence Vaughan. We 
were talking together, when up came Connington of the 
Foreign Office. “ I say, Vaughan,” he said, “ Lord 
Eemington wishes to be introduced to you.” I watched 
the old statesman a little curiously as he greeted Lawrence, 
and listened to his first words: “ Very glad to make your 
acquaintance, Captain Vaughan; I understand that the 


100 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


author of that grand novel, 4 At Strife/ is a brother of 
yours.” And poor Lawrence spent a mauvais quart 
d’heure, inwardy fuming I know at the idea that he. the 
hero of Saspataras Hill, should be considered merely as 
44 the brother of Vaughan, the novelist/ ' 

Fate, or perhaps I should say the effect of his own per- 
nicious actions, did not deal kindly just now with Lawrence. 
Somehow Freda learned about that will, and, being no 
bread-and-butter miss, content meekly to adore her fiance 
and deem him faultless, she 4 4 up and spake ” on the sub- 
ject, and I fancy poor Lawrence must have had another 
mauvais quart d’heure. It was not this, however, which 
led to a final breach between them; it was something 
which Sir Kichard discovered with regard to Lawrence's 
life at Dover. The engagement was instantly broken off, 
and Freda, I am sure, felt nothing but relief. She went 
abroad for some time, however, and we did not see her 
till long after Lawrence had been comfortably married to 
£1,500 a year and a middle-aged widow who had long 
been a hero-worshiper, and who, I am told, never allowed 
any visitor to leave the house without making some al- 
lusion to the memorable battle of Saspataras Hill and 
her Lawrence's gallant action. 

For the two years following after the major's death, 
Derrick and I, as I mentioned before, shared the rooms in 
Montague Street. For me, owing to the trouble I spoke 
of, they were years of maddening suspense and pain; but 
what pleasure I did manage to enjoy came entirely 
through the success of my friend's books and from his 
companionship. It was odd that from the care of his 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


101 


father he should immediately pass on to the care of one 
who had made such a disastrous mistake as I had made. 
But I feel the less compunction at the thought of the 
amount of sympathy I called for at that time* because I 
notice that the giving of sympathy is a necessity for Der- 
rick, and that when the troubles of other folks do not im- 
mediately thrust themselves into his life he carefully hunts 
them up. During these two years he was reading for the 
Bar — not that he ever expected to do very much as a bar- 
rister, but he thought it well to have something to fall 
back on, and declared that the drudgery of the reading 
would do him good. He was also writing as usual, and 
he used to spend two evenings a week at Whitechapel, 
where he taught one of the classes in connection with 
Toynbee Hall, and where he gained that knowledge of 
East End life which is conspicuous in his third book — 
“ Dick Carew.” This, with an ever-increasing and often 
very burdensome correspondence, brought to him by his 
books, and with a fair share of dinners, “ At -Homes,” 
and so forth, made his life a full one. In a quiet sort of 
way I believe he was happy during this time. But later 
on, when, my trouble at an end, I had migrated to a house 
of my own, and he was left alone in the Montague Street 
rooms, his spirits somehow flagged. 

Fame is, after all, a hollow, unsatisfying thing to a man 
of his nature. He heartily enjoyed his success, he de- 
lighted in hearing that his books had given pleasure or 
had been of use to any one, but no public victory could in 
the least make up to him for the loss he had suffered in his 
private life; indeed, I almost think there were times when 


102 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


his triumphs as an author seemed to him utterly worthless 
— days of depression, when the congratulations of his 
friends were nothing but a mockery. He had gained a 
striking success, it is true, but he had lost Freda; he was 
in the position of the starving man who has received a gift 
of bon-bons, but so craves for bread that they half sicken 
him. I used now and then to watch his face when, as 
often happened, some one said: , “ What an enviable 
fellow you are, Vaughan, to get on like this!” or, “ What 
wouldn't I give to change places with you!" He would 
invariably smile and turn the conversation; but there was 
a look in his eyes at such times that I hated to see — it 
always made me think of Mrs. Browning's poem, “ The 
Mask": 

“ Behind no prison- grate, she said, 

Which slurs the sunshine half a mile, 

Live captives so uncomforted 
As souls behind a smile.” 

As to the Merrifields, there was no chance of seeing 
them, for Sir Kichard had gone to India in some official 
capacity, and no doubt, as every one said, they would take 
good care to marry Freda out there. Derrick had not 
seen her since that trying February at Bath, long ago. 
Yet 1 fancy she was never out of his thoughts. 

And so the years rolled on, and Derrick worked away 
steadily, giving his books to the world, accepting the com- 
forts and discomforts of an author's life, laughing at the 
outrageous reports that were in circulation about him, yet 
occasionally, I think, inwardly wincing at them, and learn- 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


103 


ing from the number of begging letters which he received, 
and into which he usually caused searching inquiry to be 
made, that there are in the world a vast number of unde- 
serving poor. 

One day I happened to meet Lady Probyn at a garden- 
party; it was at the same house on Campden Hill where I 
had once met Freda, and perhaps it was the recollection of 
this which prompted me to inquire after her. 

4 4 She has not been well,” said Lady Probyn, 44 and they 
are sending her back to England; the climate doesn't suit 
her. She is to make her home with us for the present, so 
1 am the gainer. Freda has always been my favorite niece, 
I don't know what it is about her that is so taking; she is 
not half so pretty as the others.” 

44 But so much more charming,” I said. 44 1 wonder 
she has not married out in India, as every one prophesied.” 

44 And so do I,” said her aunt. 44 However, poor child, 
no doubt, after having been two years engaged to that very 
disappointing hero of Saspataras Hill, she will be. shy of 
venturing to trust any one again.” 

44 Do you think that affair ever went very deep?” I 
ventured to ask. 44 It seemed to me that she looked mis- 
erable during her engagement, and happy when it was 
broken off. ” 

44 Quite so,” said Lady Probyn; 44 1 noticed the same 
thing. It was nothing but a mistake. They were not in 
the least suited to each other. By the bye, I hear that 
Derrick Vaughan is married.” 

44 Derrick?” I exclaimed; 44 oh, no, that is a mistake. 


104 


DERRICK VAUGHAN — NOVELIST. 


It is merely one of the hundred and one reports that are 
forever being set afloat about him. ” 

“ But I saw it in a paper, I assure you, ” said Lady Pro- 
byn, by no means convinced. 4 

“ Ah, that may very well be; they were hard up for a 
paragraj)h, no doubt, and inserted it. But, as for Der- 
rick, why, how should he marry? He has been madly in 
love with Miss Merrifield ever since our cruise in the 
4 Aurora . 9 99 

Lady Probyn made an inarticulate exclamation. 

“Poor fellow!” she said, after a minute’s thought; 
“ that explains much to me.” 

She did not explain her rather ambiguous remark, and 
before long our tete-a-tete was interrupted. 

Now that my friend was a full-fledged barrister, he and 
I shared chambers; and one morning about a month after 
this garden party, Derrick came in with face of such 
radiant happiness, that I couldn’t imagine what good luck 
had befallen him. 

“What do you think?” he exclaimed; “ here’s an in- 
vitation for a cruise in the ‘ Aurora ’ at the end of August 
— to be nearly the same party that we had years ago,” and 
he threw down the letter for me to read. 

Of course there was a special mention of “ my niece, 
Miss Merrifield, who has just returned from India, and is 
ordered plenty of sea-air.” I could have told that without 
reading the letter, for it was written quite clearly in Der- 
rick’s face. He looked ten years younger, and if any of 
his adoring readers could have seen the pranks he was up 
to that morning in our staid and respectable chambers, 1 


DEKKICK VAUGHAN— NOVELIST. 


105 


am afraid they would no longer have spoken of him “ with 
bated breath and whispering humbleness. ” 

As it happened, I too was able to leave home for a fort- 
night at the end of August; and so our party in the “ Au- 
rora 99 really was the same, except that we were all several 
years older, and let us hope wiser, than on the previous oc- 
casion. Considering all that had intervened, 1 was sur- 
prised that Derrick was not more altered; as for Freda, 
she was decidedly paler than when we first met her, but, 
before long, sea-air and happiness wrought a wonderful 
transformation in her. 

In spite of the pessimists who are forever writing books 
— even writing novels (more shame to them) to prove that 
there is no such thing as happiness in the world, we man- 
aged every one of us heartily to enjoy our cruise. It 
seemed indeed true that — 

“ Green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, 

And singing and loving all come back together.” 

Something, at any rate, of the glamour of those past days 
came back to us all, I fancy, as we laughed and dozed and 
idled and talked beneath the snowy wings of the “ Au- 
rora;” and I can not say I was in the least surprised when, 
on roaming through the pleasant garden walks in that 
unique little island of Tresco, I came once more upon Der- 
rick and Freda, with, if you will believe it, another hand- 
ful of white heather given to them by that discerning gar- 
dener! Freda once more reminded me of the girl in the 
46 Biglow Papers,” and Derrick's face was full of such bliss 
as one seldom sees, 


106 


DERRICK YAUGHAN — KOYELIST. 


He had always had to wait for his good things, but in 
the end they came to him. However, you may depend 
upon it he didn't say much That was never his way. He 
only gripped my hand, and with his eyes all aglow with 
happiness, exclaimed: “ Congratulate me, old fellow!" 


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Walter Besant’s Works. 

97 All in a Garden Fair 20 

137 Uncle Jack 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune 10 

146 Love Finds the Way,and Other 
Stories. By Besant and Rice 10 

230 Dorothy Forster 20 

324 In Luck at Last 10 

541 Uncle Jack. 10 

651 “ Self or Bearer” 10 

882 Children of Gibeon 20 

904 The Holy Rose 10 

906 The World Went Very Well 

Then 20 

980 To Call Her Mine 20 

1055 Katharine Regin a 20 

1065 Herr Paulus: His Rise, His 

Greatness, and His Fall 20 

1143 The Inner House 20 

1151 For Faith and Freedom. 20 

M. Betham-Edwards’s Works. 

273 Love and Mirage ; or, The Wait- 
ing on an Island 10 

579 The Flower of Doom, and Other 

Stories 10 

594 Doctor Jacob 20 

1023 Next of Kin— Wanted 20 

William Black’s Works. 

1 Yolande 20 

18 Shandon Bells 20 

21 Sunrise : A Story of These 

Times 20 

2* A Princess of Thule 20 

39 In Silk Attire 20 

44 Macleod of Dare 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton 20 

70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
mance 10 

78 Madcap Violet : 20 

81 A Daughter of Heth 20 

124 Three Feathers . . 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane 20 

126 Kilmeny. .. ... 20 


138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly 20 
265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 
Affairs and Other Adventures 20 
472 The Wise Women of Inverness 10 

627 White Heather 20 

898 Romeo and Juliet: A Tale of 

Two Young Fools 

962 Sabina Zembra. 1st half 

962 Sabina Zembra. 2d half 

1096 The Strange Adventures of a 

House-Boat.. 

1132 In Far Lochaber.. 

R. D. Blackmore’s Works. 

67 Lorna Doone. 1st half 

67 Lorna Doone. 2d half 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 
Thomas Upmore, Bart., M. P. 

615 Mary Anerley 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin.. 

629 Cripps, the Carrier 

630 Cradock Nowell. 1st half 

*630 Cradock Nowell. 2d half 

631 Christowell. A Dartmoor Tale 

632 Clara Vaughan 

633 The Maid of Sker. 1st half... 

633 The Maid of Sker. 2d half 

636 Alice Lorraine. 1st half 

636 Alice Lorraine. 2d half.. 

926 Springhaven. 1st half 

926 Springhaven. 2d half 

Miss M. E. Braddon’s Works. 

35 Lady Audley’s Secret 

56 Phantom Fortune 

74 Aurora Floyd 

110 Under the Red Flag 

153 The Golden Calf 

204 Vixen 

211 The Octoroon 

234 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery. 

263 An Ishmaelite 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1884. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

434 Wyllard’s Weird 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part I 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part II 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 
Miss M. E. Braddon 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter... 

489 Rupert Godwin 

495 Mount Royal 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 

497 The Lady’s Mile 

498 Only a Clod 

499 The Cloven Foot 

511 A Strange World 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 

524 Strangers and Pilgrims 

529 The Doctor’s Wife 

542 Fenton’s Quest 

544 Cut by the CounW; or, Grace 

Darn M 


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548 The Fatal Marriage, and The 

Shadow in the Corner 10 

549 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 

er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey 10 

552 Hostages to Fortune 20 

553 Birds of Prey 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey ”) 20 

557 To the Bitter End 20 

559 Taken at the Flood 20 

500 Asphodel 20 

561 Just as I am ; or, A Living Lie 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

570 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

618 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

840 One Thing Needful; or. The 

Penalty of Fate .. 20 

881 Mohawks. 1st half 20 

881 Mohawks. 2d half 20 

890 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1886. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

943 Weavers and Weft; or, “ Love 

that Hath Us in His Net ” 20 

947 Publicans and Sinners; or, 

Lucius Davoren. 1st half 20 

947 Publicans and Sinners; or, 
Lucius Davoren. 2d half.... 20 

1036 Like and Unlike 20 

1098 The Fatal Three 20 

Works by Charlotte M. Braeme, 
Author of “Dora Thorne.” 

19 Her Mother’s Sin 10 

51 Dora Thorne 20 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover 20 

73 Redeemed by Love; or, Love’s 

Victory 20 

76 Wife in Name Only; or, A 

Broken Heart 20 

79 Wedded and Parted 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

220 Which Loved Him Best? 10 

237 Repented at Leisure. (Large 
type edition) 20 


249 “Prince Charlie’s Daughter;” 

or, The Cost of Her Love 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair 

but False 10 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime ; or, Viv- 
ien’s Atonement 10 

287 At War With Herself 10 

923 At War With Herself. (Large 

type edition) 20 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight; or, 

From Out the Gloom 10 

955 From Gloom to Sunlight; or, 
From Out the Gloom. (Large 
type edition) 20 


291 Love’s Warfare 10 

292 A Golden Heart 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin 10 


948 The Shadow of a Sin. (Large 

type edition) 

294 Lady Hutton’s Ward 

294 Hilda; or. The False Vow 

928 Lady Hfttton’s Ward 

928 H i 1 d a ; or. The False Vow. 

(Large type edition) 

295 A Woman’s War 

952 A Woman’s War. (Large type 

edition) 

296 A Rose in Thorns 

297 Hilary’s Folly; cr, Her Mar- 

riage Vow 

953 Hilary’s Folly; or, Her Mar- 

riage Vow. (Large type edi- 
tion) 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death 

304 In Cupid’s Net 

305 A Dea*d Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for 

a Day 

307 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 

Love 

308 Beyond Pardon 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 

323 A Willful Maid 

411 A Bitter Atonement 

433 My Sister Kate 

459 A Woman’s Temptation. 

(Large type edition) 

951 A Woman’s Temptation 

460 Under a Shadow 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 

466 Between Two Loves 

467 A Struggle for a Ring 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret; or, A 

Guiding Star 

470 Evelyn’s Folly 

471 Thrown on the World 

476 Between Two Sins; or, Married 

in Haste 

516 Put Asunder ; or, Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce 

576 Her Martyrdom . 

626 A Fair Mystery 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or. 
The Romance of a Young 

Girl . 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love 

792 Set in Diamonds 

821 The World Between Thera 

853 A True Magdalen 

854 A Woman’s Error 

922 Marjorie 

924 ’Twixt Smile and Tear 

927 Sweet Cymbeline 

929 The Belle of Lynn; or, The 

Miller’s Daughter 

931 Lady Diana’s Pride... * .. 


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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition, 


949 Claribel’s Love Story; or, Love’s 


Hidden Depths 20 

958 A Haunted Life ; or, Her Terri- 
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969 The Mystery of Colde Fell; or, 

Not Proven 20 

973 The Squire’s Darling 20 

975 A Dark Marriage Morn 20 

978 Her Second Love 20 

982 The Duke’s Secret 20 

985 On Her Wedding Morn, and 
The Mystery of the Holly-Tree 20 
988 The Shattered Idol, and Letty 

Leigh 20 

990 The Earl’s Error, and Arnold’s 

Promise 20 

995 An Unnatural Bondage, and 

That Beautiful Lady 20 

1006 His Wife’s Judgment 20 

1008 A Thorn in Her Heart 20 

1010 Golden Gates 20 

1012 A Nameless Sin. 20 

1014 A Mad Love 20 

1031 Irene’s Vow 20 

1052 Signa’s Sweetheart 20 

1091 A Modern Cinderella 10 

1134 Lord Elesmere’s Wife, *20 


1155 Lured Away; or, The Story of 
a Wedding - Ring, and The 
Heiress of Arne 20 

Charlotte Bronte’s Works. 

15 Jane Eyre 20 

57 Shirley 20 

944 The Professor 20 

Rlioda Broughton’s Works. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy... 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10 

758 “Good-bye, Sweetheart!” 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well 20 

767 Joan 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower 20 

862 Betty’s Vis.^ns 10 

894 Doctor Cupid 20 

Mary E. Bryan’s Works. 

731 The Bayou Bride 20 

857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the 

Red House. 1st half 20 

857 Kildee; or. The Sphinx of the 

Red House. 2d half 20 

Robert Buchanan’s Works. 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man 20 

154 Annan Water 20 

181 The New Abelard 10 

398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. . . 10 

646 The Master of the Mine 90 

892 That Winter Night; or, Love’s 

Victory 10 

1074 Stormy Waters 20 

1104 The Heir of Linne 20 

Captain Fred Burnaby’s Works. 

375 A Ride to Khiva 20 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 
Minor 20 


E. Fairfax Byrrne’s Works* 

521 Entangled 20 

538 A Fair Country Maid. 20 

Hall Caine’s Works. 

445 The Shadow of a Crime 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me 10 

Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron’s Works. 

595 A North Country Maid 20 

796 In a Grass Country 20 

891 VeraNevill; or, Poor Wisdom’s 

Chance 20 

912 Pure Gold. 1st half .. 20 

912 Pure Gold. 2d half 20 

963 Worth Winning 20 

1025 Daisy’s Dilemma 20 

1028 A Devout Lover ; or, A Wasted 

Love 20 

1070 A Life’s Mistake 20 

Rosa Nouchette Carey’s Works. 

215 Not Like Other Girls 20 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial. 1st 

half 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial. 2d 

half 20 

608 For Lilias. 1st half 20 

608 For Lilias. 2d half 20 

930 Uncle Max. 1st half 20 

930 Uncle Max. 2d half 20 

932 Queenie’s Whim. 1st half 20 

932 Queenie’s Whim. 2d half 20 

934 Wooed and Married. 1st half. 20 

934 Wooed and Married. 2d half. 20 

936 Nellie’s Memories. 1st half... 20 
936 Nellie’s Memories. 2d half... 20 

961 Wee Wifie 20 

1033 Esther: A Story for Girls 20 

1064 Only the Governess 20 

1135 Aunt Diana 20 

Lewis Carroll’s Works. 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. Illustrated by John 

Tenniel 20 

789 Through the Looking-Glass, 
and What Alice Found There. 
Illustrated by John Tenniel. . 20 

Wilkie Collins’s Works. 

52 The New Magdalen 10 

102 The Moonstone 20 

167 Heart and Science 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins... 10 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and 

Other Stories 10 

233 “ I Say No;” or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered 20 

508 The Girl at the Gate j^. . . 10 

591 The Queen of Hearts 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet 10 

623 My Lady’s Money 10 

701 The Woman in White. 1st half 20 

701 The Woman in White. 2d half 2C 

702 Man and Wife. 1st half 20 

702 Man and Wife. 2d half £C 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY- .Pocket Edition. 


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764 The Evil Genius 20 

896 The Guilty River 20 

946 The Dead Secret 20 

977 The Haunted Hotel 20 

1029 Armadale. 1st half. 20 

1029 Armadale. 2d half 20 

1095 The Legacy of Cain 20 

1119 No Name. 1st half 20 

1119 No Name. 2d half 20 

Mabel Collins’s Works. 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. . . 20 
828 The PrettiestWoman in Warsaw 20 

Hugh Conway’s Works# 

240 Called Back 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 
Other Tales 10 

301 Dark Days 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest 10 

502 Carriston’s Gift 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories 10 

543 A Family Affair 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

Stories 10 

711 A Cardinal Sin 20 

804 Living or Dead 20 

830 Bound by a Spell 20 


425 The Oak-Openings; or, The 

Bee-Hunter 20 

431 The Monikins 20 

1062 The Deerslayer; or. The First 

War-Path. 1st half 20 

1062 The Deerslayer; or, The First 

War-Path. 2d half 20 

Marie Corelli’s Works. 

1068 Vendetta ! or, The Story of One 

Forgotten 20 

1131 Thelma. 1st half 20 

1131 Thelma. 2d half 20 

Georgiana M. Craik’s Works# 

450 Godfrey Helstone 20 

606 Mrs. Hollyer 20 

B. M. Croker’s Works# 

207 Pretty Miss Neville 20 

260 Proper Pride 1 

412 Some One Else 20 

1124 Diana Barrington 20 

May Crommelin’s Works. 

452 In the West Countrie 20 

619 Joy; or. The Light of Cold- 

Home Ford 20 

647 Goblin Gold 10 


«F. Fenimore Cooper’s Works# 


60 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

309 The Pathfinder 20 

310 The Prairie 20 

318 The Pioneers ; or, The Sources 

of the Susquehanna 20 

349 The Two Admirals 20 

359 The Water-Witch 20 

361 The Red Rover 20 

373 Wing and Wing 20 

378 Homeward Bound; or, The 

Chase 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound”) 20 

380 Wyandotte; or, The Hutted 

Knoll 20 

385 The Headsman ; or, The Ab- 

baye des Vignerons 20 

394 The Bravo 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or, The Leag- 
uer of Boston 20 

400 The Wept of Wish -Ton-Wish. . 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or. The Florida Reef 20 

419 The Chainbearer; or, The Lit- 

tle-page Manuscripts 20 

420 Satanstoe ; or, The Littlepage 

Manuscripts 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts 20 

422 Precaution 20 

423 The Sea Lions; or, The Lost 

Sealers 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or, The 

Voyage to Cathay 20 


Alphonse Daudet’s Works. 


534 Jack 20 

574 The Nabob : A Story of Parisian 

Life and Manners 20 

Charles Dickens’s Works. 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. I 20 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. II... 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. 1 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol.'ll 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. 1st half.. 20 
37 Nicholas Nickleby. 2d half . . . 20 

41 Oliver Twist 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

84 Hard Times 10 

91 Barnaby Rudge. 1st half 20 

91 Barnaby Rudge. 2d half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. 1st half 20 

94 Little Dorrit. 2d half 20 

106 Bleak House. 1st half 20 

106 Bleak House. 2d half 20 

107 Dombey and Son. 1st half ... 20 

107 Dombey and Son. 2d half 20 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and 

Doctor Marigold 10 

131 Our Mutual Friend. 1st half. 20 

131 Our Mutual Friend. 2d half.. 20 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. . 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

169 The Haunted Man 16 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Clmzzlewit. 1st half 20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Clmzzlewit. 2d half 20 

439 Great Expectations 20 

440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

447 American Notes , 20 

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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition, 


448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c. . . 

454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood. 
456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
of Every-day Life and Every- 
day People 

676 A Child’s History of England. 

Sarah Doudney’s Works. 

888 The Family Difficulty 

679 Where Two Ways Meet 

F. Du Boisgobey’s Works. 

82 Sealed Lips 

104 The Coral Pin. 1st half 

104 The Coral Pin. 2d half 

264 PiSdouche, a French Detective 
328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

First half 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

Second half 

453 The Lottery Ticket 

475 The Prima Donna’s Husband. 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or, The 

Steel Gauntlets 

523 The Consequences of a Duel. A 

Parisian Romance 

648 The Angel of the Bells 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 1st half . . . 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 2d half 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 1st 

half 

699 The Sculptor's Daughter. 2d 

half 

782 The Closed Door. 1st half 

782 The Closed Door. 2d half . . . . 
851 The Cry of Blood. 1st half. . . 
851 The Cry of Blood. 2d half. . . . 

918 The Red Band. 1st half 

918 The Red Band. 2d half 

942 Cash on Delivery 

1076 The Mystery of an Omnibus.. 

1080 Bertha’s Secret. 1st half 

1080 Bertha’s Secret. 2d half 

1082 The Severed Hand. 1st half.. 
1082 The Severed Hand. 2d half.. 
1085 The Matapan Affair. 1st half 
1085 The Matapan Affair. 2d half 
1088 The Old Age of Monsieur Le- 

coq. 1st half 

1088 The Old Age of Monsieur Le- 

coq. 2d half 

“The Duchess’s” Wonts. 

2 Molly Bawn 

6 Portia 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian 

16 Phyllis 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. (Large type 

edition) 

950 Mrs. Geoffrey 

29 Beauty’s Daughters 

30 Faith and Unfaith 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and 

Eric Dering 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d.. 

123 Sweet is True Love 

129 Rossmoyne 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other 

Stories. 


136 “That Last Rehearsal,” and 

Other Stories 10 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. .. 10 

171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

Stories 10 

284 Doris 10 

312 A Week’s Amusement; or, A 

Week in Eillamey 10 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s 

Eve 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion 10 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories 10 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Bar- 
bara 10 

517 A Passive Crime, and Other 

Stories 10 

541 “As It Fell Upon a Day.”. . . . 10 

733 Lady Branksmere 20 

771 A Mental Struggle 20 

785 The Haunted Chamber 10 

862 Ugly Barrington 10 

875 Lady Valworth’s Diamonds. . . 20 
1009 In an Evil Hour, and Other 

Stories 20 

1016 A Modern Circe 20 

1035 The Duchess 20 

1047 Marvel 20 

1103 The Honorable Mrs. Vereker.. 20 

1123 Under-Currents 20 

Alexander Dumas’s Works. 

55 The Three Guardsmen 20 

75 Twenty Years After 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. A 
Sequel to “ The Count of 

Monte-Cristo ” 10 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Parti 30 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part II 30 

717 Beau Tancrede; or, The Mar- 
riage Verdict 20 

1053 Masaniello; or, The Fisherman 
of Naples 20 

George Ebers’s Works* 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel 20 

983 Uarda 20 

1056 The Bride of the Nile. 1st half 20 
1056 The Bride of the Nile. 2d half 20 

1094 Homo Sum 20 

1097 The Burgomaster’s Wife 20 

1101 An Egyptian Princess. Vol. I. 20 
1101 An Egyptian Princess. Vol. II. 20 

1106 The Emperor 20 

1112 Only a Word 20 

1114 The Sisters * 20 

Marla Edgeworth’s Works. 

708 Ormond 20 

788 The Absentee. An Irish Story. 20 

Mrs. Annie Edwards’s Works. 

644 A Girton Girl 20 

834 A Ballroom Repentance 20 

835 Vivian the Beauty 20 

836 A Point of Honor., 20 


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837 A Vagabond Heroine 

838 Ought We to Visit Her?. ._ 

839 Leah: A Woman of Fashion.. 

841 Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 

842 A Blue-Stocking 

843 Archie Lovell 

844 Susan Fielding 

845 Philip Earnscliffe ; or, The 

Morals of May F air 

846 Steven Lawrence. 1st half... 

846 Steven Lawrence. 2d half 

850 A Playwright's Daughter 

George Eliot’s Works* 

3 The Mill on the Floss 

31 Middlemarch. 1st half 

31 Middlemarch. 2d half 

34 Daniel Deronda. 1st half 

34 Daniel Deronda. 2d half 

36 Adam Bede. 1st half 

36 Adam Bede. 2d half 

42 Romola 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical 

707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of 
Raveloe 

728 Janet’s Repentance 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such 

B. Ii. Farjeon’s Works. 

179 Little Make-Believe 

573 Love’s Harvest 

607 Self-Doomed 

616 The Sacred Nugget . 

657 Christmas Angel 

907 The Bright Star of Life 

909 The Nine of Hearts 

G* Manville Fenn’s Works, 

193 The Rosery Folk 

558 Poverty Corner 

587 The Parson o’ Dumford 

609 The Dark House . 

Octave Feuillet’s Works, 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young 

Man 

386 Led Astray; or, “ La Petite 
Comtesse ” 

Mrs. Forrester’s Works, 

80 June 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
ciety 

484 Although He Was a Lord, and 

Other Tales 

715 I Have Lived and Loved 

721 Dolores 

724 My Lord and My Lady 

726 My Hero 

727 Fair Women , 

729 Mignon 

732 From Olympus to Hades 

734 Viva 

736 Roy and Viola 

740 Rhona 

744 Diana Carew ; or, For a Wom- 
an’s Sake 

883 Once Again — ... * 


Jessie FothergilJ’s Works. 

314 Peril 20 

572 Healey 20 

935 Borderland 20 

1099 The Lasses of Leverhouse 20 

Ii. E. Francillon’s Works. 

135 A Great Heiress: A Fortune 

in Seven Checks 10 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables 10 

360 Ropes of Sand 20 

656 The Goldeu Flood. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior.. 10 
911 Golden Bells 20 

Emile Gaboriau’s Works. 

7 File No. 113 20 

12 Other People’s Money 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life.. . 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol. II 20 

33 The Clique of Gold 20 

38 The Widow Lerouge 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

144 Promises of Marriage 10 

979 The Count’s Secret. Part I. . . 20 
979 The Count’s Secret. Part II.. 20 

1002 Marriage at a Venture 20 

1015 A Thousand Francs Reward.. 20 

1045 The 13th Hussars 20 

1078 The Slaves of Paris.— Black- 
mail. 1st half 20 

1078 The Slaves of Paris. — The 
Champdoce Secret. 2d half. . 20 
1083 The Little Old Man of the Bat- 
jgnolles 10 

Charles Gibbon’s Works. 

64 A Maiden Fair 10 

317 By Mead and Stream 20 

James Grant’s Works. 

566 The Royal Highlanders; or, 
The Black Watch in Egypt... 20 

781 The Secret Dispatch 10 

Miss Grant’s Works. 

222 The Sun-Maid 20 

555 Cara Roma 20 

Arthur Griffiths’s Works. 

614 No. 99 10 

680 Fast and Loose 20 

H. Rider Haggard’s Works. 
432 The Witch’s Head . 20 

753 King Solomon’s Mines 20 

910 She: A History of Adventure. 20 

941 Jess 20 

959 Dawn 20 

989 Allan Quatermain 20 

1049 A Tale of Three Lions, and On 
Going Back 2® 

1100 Mr. Meeson’s Will 20 

1105 Maiwa’s Revenge 10 

1140 Colonel Quaritch, V. C 20 

1145 My Fellow Laborer 20 

Thomas Hardy’s Works. 

139 The Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid 10 

530 A Pair of Blue Eye« ......... 2d 


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8 THE SEASIDE LIBRARY — Pocket Edition. 


690 Far From the Madding 1 Crowd 20 
791 The Mayor of Casterbridge. .. 20 

945 The Trumpet-Major , 20 

957 The Woodlanders 20 

John B, Harwood's Works. 

143 One False, Both Fair 20 

358 Within the Clasp 20 

Mary Cecil Hay’s Works. 

65 Back to the Old Home 10 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money 20 

196 Hidden Perils 20 

197 For Her Dear Sake 20 

224 The Arundel Motto 20 

281 The Squire’s Legacy 20 

290 Nora’s Love Test 20 

408 Lester’s Secret 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished .... 20 

849 A Wicked Girl..*. 20 

987 Brenda Yorke 20 

1026 A Dark Inheritance 20 

Mrs. Cashel-Hoey’s Works. 

313 The Lover's Creed 20 

802 A Stern Chase 20 

Tiglie Hopkins’s Works. 

509 Nell Haffenden 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty 20 

Thomas Hughes’s Works. 

120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

Rugby... 20 

1139 Tom Brown at Oxford. Vol. I. 20 
1139 Tom Brown at Oxford. Vol. U. 20 

Fergus W. Hume’s Works. 

■*1075 The Mystery of a Hansom Cab. 20 
1127 Madam Midas 20 

Works hy the Author of “ Judith 
Wynne.” 

332 Judith Wynne 20 

506 Lady Lovelace 20 

William H, G. Kingston’s Works. 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean 20 

133 Peter the Whaler 10 

761 Will Weatherhelm 20 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke 
Merry 20 

Vernon Lee’s Works. 

399 Miss Brown 20 

859 Otti lie: An Eighteenth Century 
Idyl. By Vernon Lee. The 
Prince of the 100 Soups. Edit- 
ed by Vernon Lee 20 

Charles Lever’s Works. 

191 Harry Lorrequer 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish 

Dragoon. 1st half 20 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish 

Dragoon. 2d half 20 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” 1st half 20 
243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” 2d half 20 


Mary Linskill’s Works. 

473 A Lost Son 20 

620 Between the Heather and the 

Northern Sea 20 

Mrs. E. Lynn Linton’s Works. 

122 lone Stewart 20 

817 Stabbed in the Dark 10 

886 Paston Carew, Millionaire and 

Miser 20 

1109 Through the Long Nights. 1st 

half 20 

1109 Through the Long Nights. 2d 

half 30 

Samuel Lover’s Works. 

663 Handy Andy 20 

664 Rory O’More 20 

Edna Lyall’s Works. 

738 In the Golden Days 20 

1147 Knight-Errant, 20 

1149 Donovan: A Modern English- 
man. 20 


Sir E. Bulwer Lytron’s Works. 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii 20 

83 A Strange Story 20 

90 Ernest Maltravers 20 

130 The Last of the Barons. 1st half 20 
130 The Last of the Barons. 2d half 20 

162 Eugene Aram 20 

164 Leila ; or,The Siege of Grenada 10 
350 Alice; or, The Mysteries. (A Se- 
quel to “ Ernest Maltravers ”) 20 

720 Paul Clifford 20 

1144 Rienzi. 20 


George Macdonald’s Works. 

282 Donal Grant 20 

325 The Portent 10 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women 10 

722 What’s Mine’s Mine 20 

1041 Home Again 20 

1118 The Elect Lady 20 

Katharine S. Macquoid’s Works* 

479 Louisa 20 

914 Joan Wentworth 20 

E. Marlitt’s Works. 

652 The Lady with the Rubies 20 

858 Old Ma’m’selle’s Secret 20 

972 Gold Elsie 20 

999 The Second Wife 20 

1093 In the Schillingscourt 20 

1111 In the Counsellor’s House 20 

1113 The Bailiff’s Maid 20 

1115 The Countess Gisela 20 

1130 The Owl-House 20 

1136 The Princess of the Moor 20 

Florence Marryat’s Works, 

159 Captain Norton’s Diary, and 

A Moment of Madness 10 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other 
Stories 10 


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208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. . . 

444 The Heart of Jane Warner 

449 Peeress and Player 

689 The Heir Presumptive 

825 The Master Passion 

860 Her Lord and Master 

861 My Sister the Actress 

863 “ My Own Child.” 

864 “ No Intentions.” 

865 Written in Fire 

866 Miss Harrington’s Husband; 

or, Spiders of Society 

867 The Girls of Feversham 

868 Petronel 

869 The Poison of Asps 

870 Out of His Reckoning 

872 With Cupid’s Eyes 

873 A Harvest of Wild Oats 

877 Facing the Footlights 

893 Love’s Conflict. 1st half 

893 Love’s Conflict. 2d half 

895 A Star and a Heart 

897 Ange 

899 A Little Stepson 

901 A Lucky Disappointment 

903 Phyllida 

905 The Fair-Haired Alda 

939 Why Not? 

993 Fighting the Air 

998 Open Sesame 

1004 Mad Dumaresq 

1013 The Confessions of Gerald Est- 

court 

1022 Driven to Bay 

1126 Gentleman and Courtier 

Captain Marryat’s Works. 

88 The Privateersman 

272 The Little Savage 

279 Rattlin, the Reefer 

991 Mr. Midshipman Easy 

Helen B. Mathers’ s Works. 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal 

221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye 

438 Found Out 

535 Murder or Manslaughter? 

673 Story of a Sin 

713 ” Cherry Ripe” 

795 Sam’s Sweetheart 

798 The Fashion of this World 

799 My Lady Green Sleeves 

Justin McCarthy’s Works. 

121 Maid of Athens 

602 Camiola 

685 England Under Gladstone. 

1880—1885 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 
by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.. 
779 Doom 1 An Atlantic Episode.. 
George Meredith’s Works. 

350 Diana of the Crossways 

1146 Rhoda Fleming. .... 


1150 The Egoist. 


Mrs, Alex. McVeigh Miller’s 
Works. 

267 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 

Conspiracy 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser’s Treasure 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice 20 

316 Sworn to Silence; or, Aline 

Rodney’s Secret 20 

Jean Middlemas’s Works. 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret 20 

539 Silvermead 26 

Alan Muir’s Works. 

172 “ Golden Girls” 20 

346 Tumbledown Farm 10 

Miss Mulock’s Works, 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. 1st 

half 20 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. 2d 

half 20 

245 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat 10 

808 King Arthur. Not a Love Story 20 

1018 Two Marriages 20 

1038 Mistress and Maid 20 

1053 Young Mrs. Jardine 20 

David Christie Murray’s Works. 

58 By the Gate of the Sea 10 

195 “ The Way of the World ” 20 

320 A Bit of Human Nature 10 

661 Rainbow Gold 20 

674 First Person Singular 20 

691 Valentine Strange 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

Deuce 20 

698 A Life’s Atonement 20 

737 Aunt Rachel 10 

826 Cynic Fortune 20 

898 Bulldog and Butterfly, and Ju- 
lia and Her Romeo 20 

1102 Young Mr. Barter’s Repent- 
ance 10 


Works by the author of “ My 
Ducats and My Daughter.” 

376 The Crime of Christmas Day. 10 
596 My Ducats and My Daughter. . 20 

W. E. Norris’s Works. 


184 Thirlby Hall.... 20 

277 A Man of His Word 10 

355 That Terrible Man 10 

500 Adrian Vidal 20 

824 Her Own Doing 10 

848 My Friend Jim 20 

871 A Bachelor’s Blunder 20 

1019 Major and Minor. 1st half 20 

1019 Major and Minor. 2d half 20 

1084 Chris 20 

1141 The Rogue. 1st half . 20 

1141 The Rogue. 2d half 20 

Laurence Oliphant’s Works. 

47 Altiora Peto 20 

537 Piccadilly 10 


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Mrs, Oliphant’s Works. 

45 A Little Pilgrim 

177 Salem Chapel 

205 The Minister’s Wife 

821 The Prodigals, and Their In- 
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337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 

the Borough of Fendie 

345 Madam 

351 The House on the Moor 

357 John 

370 Lucy Crofton 

371 Margaret Maitland 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 

the Scottish Reformation 

402 Lilliesleaf ; or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunnyside 

410 Old Lady Mary 

527 The Days of My Life 

528 At His Gates 

568 The Perpetual Curate 

569 Harry Muir 

603 Agnes. 1st half 

603 Agnes. 2d half 

604 Innocent. 1st halt 

604 Innocent. 2d half 

605 Ombra 

645 Oliver’s Bride 

655 The Open Door, and The Por- 
trait 

687 A Country Gentleman 

703 A House Divided Against Itself 
710 The Greatest Heiress in Eng- 
land 

827 Effie Ogilvie 

880 The Son of His Father 

902 A Poor Gentleman 

“ Oiiicla’s ” Works. 

4 Under Two Flags 

9 Wanda, Countess von Szalras. 

116 Moths 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches 

226 Friendship 

228 Princess Napraxine 

238 Pascarel 

239 Signa. 

433 A Rainy June 

639 Othmar. 1st half 

639 Othmar. 2d half 

671 Don Gesualdo 

672 In Maremma. 1st half 

672 In Maremma. 2d half 

874 A House Party 

974 Strathmore; or, Wrought by 

His Own Hand. 1st half 

974 Strathmore; or, Wrought by 

His Own Hand. 2d half 

981 Granvillede Vigne; or, Held in 

Bondage. 1st half 

981 Granville de Vigne; or, Held in 

Bondage. 2d half 

996 Idalia. 1st half 

996 Idalia. 2d half 

1009 Puck. 1st half 

1000 Puck. 2d half..., 


1003 Chandos. 1st half 

1003 Chandos. 2d half 

1017 Tricotrin. 1st half 

1017 Tricotrin. 2d half 

James Payn’s Works. 

48 Thicker Than Water 

186 The Canon’s Ward 

343 The Talk of the Town 

577 In Peril and Privation 

589 The Luck of the Darrells 

823 The Heir of the Ages 

Miss Jane Porter’s Works. 

660 The Scottish Chiefs. 1st half. 
660 The Scottish Chiefs. 2d half. 
698 Thaddeus of Warsaw 

Cecil Power’s Works. 

336 Philistia 

611 Babylon 

Mrs. Campbell Praed’s Works 

428 Zero : A Story of Monte-Carlo 

477 Affinities 

811 The Head Station 

Eleanor C. Price’s Works. 

173 The Foreigners 

331 Gerald 

Charles Reade’s Works. 

46 Very Hard Cash 

98 A Woman-Hater 

206 The Picture, and Jack of All 

Trades 

210 Readiana : Comments on Cur- 
rent Events 

213 A Terrible Temptation 

214 Put Yourself in His Place 

216 Foul Play , 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy.. 

232 Love and Money ; or, A Peril- 

ous Secret 

235 “It is Never Too Late to 
Mend.” A Matter-of-Fact Ro- 
mance 

Mrs. J. H. Riddell’s Works 

71 A Struggle for Fame 

593 Berna Boyle 

1007 Miss Gascoigne 

1077 The Nun’s Curse 

“Rita’s” Works. 

252 A Sinless Secret 

446 Dame Durden 

598 “ Corinna.” A Study 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss 

1125 The Mystery of a Turkish Bath 

F. W. Robinson’s Works. 

157 Millv’s Hero 

217 The Man 'She Cared For 

261 A Fair Maid 

455 Lazarus in London 

590 The Courting of Mary Smith. . 

1005 99, Dark Street 


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W. Clark Russell’s Works. 

85 A Sea Queen 20 

109 Little Loo 20 

180 Round the Galley Fire 10 

209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 10 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart 20 

592 A Strange Voyage 20 

682 In the Middle Watch. Sea 

Stories 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. 1st half. . . 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. 2d half 20 

884 A Voyage to the Cape 20 

916 The Golden Hope 20 

1044 The Frozen Pirate 20 

1048 The Wreck of the “Grosvenor” 20 
1129 The Flying Dutchman; or, The 

Death Ship 20 

Adeline Sergeant’s Works. 

257 Beyond Recall 10 

812 No Saint 20 

Sir Walter Scott’s Works. 

23 Ivan hoe 20 

201 The Monastery 20 

202 The Abbot. (Sequel to “The 

Monastery ”) 20 

353 The Black Dwarf, and A Le- 
gend of Montrose 20 

362 The Bride of Lammermoor. . . 20 

363 The Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

364 Castle Dangerous 10 

391 The Heart of Mid-Lothian 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak 20 

393 The Pirate 20 

401 Waverley 20 

417 The Fair Maid of Perth ; or, St. 

Valentine’s Day. 20 

418 St. Ronan’s Well 20 

463 Redgauntlet. A Tale of the 

Eighteenth Century 20 

507 Chronicles of the Canongate, 

and Other Stories 10 

1060 The Ladj' of the Lake 20 

1063 Kenilworth. 1st half 20 

1063 Kenilworth. 2d half 20 

J. H. Sli ortho use’s Works. 

Ill The Little School-master Mark 10 
1148 The Countess Eve 20 

William Sime’s Works. 

429 Boulderstone ; or. New Men 

and Old Populations 10 

580 The Red Route 20 

597 Haco the Dreamer 10 

649 Cradle and Spade 20 

Hawley Smart’s Works. 

348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

Romance 20 

867 Tie and Trick 20 

550 Struck Down... 10 

847 Bad to Beat 10 

925 The Outsider 20 

Frank E. Smedley’s Works. 

333 Frank Fairlegh; or, Scenes 
from the Life of a Private 

Pupil 20 

562 Lewis Arundel ; or, The Rail- 
road of I4fe. 20 


T. W. Speight’s Works. 

150 For Himself Alone 10 

653 A Barren Title 10 

Robert Louis Stevenson’s Works. 

686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde 10 

704 Prince Otto 10 

832 Kidnapped 20 

855 The Dynamiter 20 

856 New Arabian Nights 20 

888 Treasure Island 10 

889 An Inland Voyage 10 

940 The Merry Men, and Other 

Tales and Fables 20 

1051 The Misadventures of John 

Nicholson 10 

1110 The Silverado Squatters 20 

Julian Sturgis’s Works. 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

694 John Maidment 20 


Eugene Sue’s Works. 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part I. . 30 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part II. 30 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part I 30 
271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part H 30 


George Temple’s Works. 

599 Lancelot Ward, M.P 10 

642 Britta 10 

William M. Thackeray’s Works. 

27 Vanity Fair. 1st half 20 

27 Vanity Fair. 2d half 20 

165 The History of Henry Esmond 20 

464 The Newcomes. Parti 20 

464 The Newcomes. Part II 20 

670 The Rose and the Ring. Illus- 
trated 10 

Works by the Author of “The 
Two Miss Flemings.” 

637 What’s His Offence? 20 

780 Rare Pale Margaret 20 

784 The Two Miss Flemings 20 

831 Pomegranate Seed 20 

Annie Thomas’s Works. 

141 She Loved Him! 10 

142 Jenifer 20 

565 No Medium 10 

Bertha Thomas’s Works. 

389 Ichabod. A Portrait 10 

960 Elizabeth’s Fortune 20 

Count Lyof Tolstoi’s Works. 

1066 My Husband and 1 10 

1069 Polikouchka 10 

1071 The Death of Ivan Iliitch 10 

1073 Two Generations 10 

1090 The Cossacks 20 

1108 Sebastopol 20 

Anthony Trollope’s Works. 

32 The Land Leaguers 20 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 


raphy 20 


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147 Rachel Ray 20 

200 An Old Man’s Love 10 

531 The Prime Minister. 1st half. 20 
531 The Prime Minister. 2d half.. 20 

621 The Warden 10 

622 Harry Heathcote of Gang-oil.. 10 
667 The Golden Lion of Granpere. 20 
700 Ralph the Heir. 1st half. . : . . . 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. 2d half 20 

775 The Three Clerks 20 

Margaret Veley’s Works, 

298 Mitchelhurst Place 10 

586 “ For Percival” 20 

Jules Verne’s Works. 

87 Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen 20 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas 20 
368 The Southern Star ; or, the Dia- 
mond Land . 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. Illustrated. 

Part I . . 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. 111. Part II. 10 
578 Mathias Sandorf. 111. Part III. 10 
659 The Waif of the “ Cynthia ” . . 20 
751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. ‘1st half 20 

751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. 2d half 20 

833 Ticket No. “ 9672.” 1st half . . . 10 
833 Ticket No. “ 9672.” 2d half . . . 10 
976 Robur the Conqueror; or, A 
Trip Round the World in a 

Flying Machine 20 

1011 Texar’s Vengeance ; or, North 

Versus South. Parti 20 

1011 Texar’s Vengeance; or, North 
Versus South. Part II. . 20 
1020 Michael Strogoff ; or, . The 

Courier of the Czar 20 

1050 The Tour of the World in 80 
Days 20 

1152 From the Earth to the Moon. 

Illustrated 20 

1153 Round the Moon. Illustrated 20 


Ij. B. Walford’s Works. 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother 10 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life 20 

258 Cousins 20 

658 The History of a Week 10 

Mrs. Humphry Ward’s Works. 

369 Miss Bretherton 10 

1116 Robert Elsmere. 1st half 20 

1116 Robert Elsmere. 2d half 20 

F. Warden’s Works. 

192 At the World’s Mercy 10 

248 The House on the Marsh 10 

286 Deldee ; or, The Iron Hand. . . 20 

482 A Vagrant Wife 20 

556 A Prince of Darkness 20 

820 Doris's Fortune 20 

1037 Scheherazade : A London 

Night’s Entertainment 20 

1087 A Woman’s Face; or, A Lake- 
land Mystery 20 


William Ware’s Works. 

709 Zenobia ; or, The Fall of Pal- 
myra. 1st half 20 

709 Zenobia; or, The Fall of Pal- 
myra. 2d half 20 

760 Aurelian ; or, Rome in the Third 

Century 20 

Samuel Warren's Works. 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk 10 

1 142 Ten Thousand a Year. Part I 20 
1142 Ten Thousand a Year. Part II 20 
1142 Ten Thousand a Year. Part III 20 


Works by the Author of “Wedded 


Hands.” 

628 Wedded Hands 20 

968 Blossom and Fruit; or, Mad- 
ame’sWard 20 

E. Werner’s Works. 

327 Raymond’s Atonement 20 

540 At a High Price 20 

1067 Saint Michael. 1st half 20 

1067 Saint Michael. 2d half 20' 

1089 Home Sounds 20 

1154 A Judgment of God 20 

fi.'J. Whyte-Melville’s Works. 

409 Roy’s Wife 20 

451 Market Harborough, and In- 
side the Bar 20 

John Strange Winter’s Works. 

492 Booties’ Baby ; or, Mignon. Il- 
lustrated 10 

600 Houp-La. Illustrated 10 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

Black Horse) Dragoons 10 

688 A Man of Honor. Illustrated. 10 

746 Cavalry Life; or, Sketches and 
Stories in Barracks and Out. 20 
813 Army Society. Life in a Gar- 
rison Town 10 

818 Pluck 10 

876 Mignon’s Secret . 10 

966 A Siege Baby and Childhood’s 

Memories 20 

971 Garrison Gossip: Gathered in 

Blankhampton 20 

1032 Mignon’s Husband 20 

1039 Driver Dallas 10 

1079 Beautiful Jim; of the Blank- 

shire Regiment 20 

1117 Princess Sarah 10 

1121 Booties’ Children 10 

Mrs. Henry Wood’s Works. 

8 East Lynne. 1st half 20 

8 East Lynne. 2d half 20 

255 The Mystery 20 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters 10 

508 The Unholy Wish 10 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

Other Tales 10 

514 The Mystery of Jessy Page, 

and Other Tales 10 

610 The Story of Dorothy Grape, 

and Other Tales 10 

1001 Lady Adelaide’s Oath; or, The 
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1021 The Heir to Ashley, and The 

Red-Court Farm 20 

1027 A Life’s Secret 20 

1042 Lady Grace 20 

Charlotte M. Yonge’s Works. 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices 10 

275 The Three Brides 10 

535 Henrietta’s Wish; or, Domi- 
neering 10 

563 The Two Sides of the Shield... 20 
640 Nuttie’s Father 20 

665 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest. 20 

666 My Young Alcides: A Faded 

Photograph 7... 20 

739 The Caged Lion 20 

742 Love and Life 20 

783 Chantry House 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or, The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 

1st half 20 

790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or, The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 

2d half 20 

800 Hopes and Fears ; or, Scenes 
* from the Life of a Spinster. 

1st half... 20 

800 Hopes and Fears; or, Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. 

2d half 20 

887 A Modern Telemachus 20 

1024 Under the Storm; or, Stead- 
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1133 Our New Mistress 20 

Miscellaneous. 

53 The Story of Ida. Francesca. . 10 
61 Charlotte Temple. Mrs. Row- 

son 10 

99 Barbara’s History. Amelia B. 

Edwards 20 

103 Rose Fleming. Dora Russell.. 10 
105 A Noble Wife. John Saunders 30 

112 The Waters of Marah. John 

Hill 20 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion. M. G. 

Wightwick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. Mrs. C. J. 

Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

127 Adrian Bright. Mrs. Caddy 20 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blath- 

erwick 10 

156 “For a Dream’s Sake.” Mrs. 

Herbert Martin *. . 20 

158 The Starling. Norman Mac- 
leod, D.D : 10 

160 Her Gentle Deeds. Sarah Tytler 10 

161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 

Lord Lytton 10 

163 Winifred Power. Joyce Dar- 
rell 20 

170 Great Treason, A. By Mary 
Hoppus. 1st half 20 


170 Great Treason, A. By Mary 

Hoppus. 2d half 20 

174 Under a Ban. Mrs. Lodge 20 

176 An April Day. Philippa Prit- 

tie Jephson .' 10 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 
of a Life in the Highlands. 

Queen Victoria 10 

182 The Millionaire 20 

185 Dita. Lady Margaret Majendie 10 
187 The Midnight Sun. Fredrika 

Bremer 10 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

203 John Bull and His Island. Max 

O’Rell 10 

218 Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. James.. 20 

219 Lady Clare : or, The Master of 

the Forges. Georges Ohnet 10 
242 The Two Orphans. D’Ennery. 10 
253 The Amazon. Carl Vosmaer. . 10 
266 The Water-Babies. Rev. Chas. 

Kingsley 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

285 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. A “ Brutal Sax- 
on ” 10 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. R. 

H. Dana, Jr 20 

329 The Polish Jew. (Translated 

from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) Erckmann-Chat- 
rian 10 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. Margaret Lee 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The White Witch 20 


340 Under Which King? Compton 

Reade 20 

341 Madolin Rivers; or, The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

Laura Jean Libbey 20 

347 As Avon Flows. Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

352 At Any Cost. Edward Garrett. 10 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. John Brougham 20 

355 The Princess Dagomar of Po- 

land. Heinrich Felbermann. 10 

356 A Good Hater. Frederick Boyle 20 


365 George Christy ; or, The Fort- 


unes of a Minstrel. Tony 

Pastor 20 

366 The Mysterious Hunter; or, 
The Man of Death. Capt. L. 

C. Carleton 20 

374 The Dead Man’s Secret. Dr. 
Jupiter Paeon 20 

381 The Red Cardinal. Frances 

Elliot 10 

382 Three Sisters. Elsa D’Esterre- 

Keeling 10 

383 Introduced to Society. Hamil- 

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387 The Secret of the Cliffs. Char- 
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403 An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 
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407 Tylney Hall. Thomas Hood. . . 20 
426 Venus’s Doves. Ida Ashworth 

Taylor 20 

430 A Bitter Reckoning. Author 

of “By Crooked Paths ” 10 

435 Klytia : A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. George Taylor 20 

436 Stella. Fanny Lewald 20 

441 A Sea Change. Flora L. Shaw. 20 

442 Ranthorpe. George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of the Albany. . . 10 

457 The Russians at the Gates of 

Herat. Charles Marvin.'. 10 

458 A Week of Passion; or, The 

Dilemma of Mr. George Bar- 
ton the Younger. Edward 

Jenkins 20 

468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad, 
of a Sewing-Girl. Charlotte 

M. Stanley 10 

483 Betwixt My Love and Me. By 

author of “ A Golden Bar ”. . . 10 
485 Tinted Vapours. J. Maclaren 

Cobban 10 

491 Society in London. A Foreign 

Resident 10 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. Lucas 

Malet 20 

501 Mr. Butler’s Ward. F. Mabel 
Robinson 20 

504 Curly: An Actor’s Story. John 

Coleman 10 

505 The Society of London. Count 

Paul Vasili 10 

510 A Mad Love. Author of “ Lover 

and Lord” 10 

512 The Waters of Hercules 20 

518 The Hidden Sin 20 

519 James Gordon’s Wife 20 

526 Madame De Presnel. E. Fran- 
ces Poynter 20 

532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 

533 Hazel Kirke. Marie Walsh 20 

536 Dissolving Views. Mrs. Andrew 

Lang 10 

545 Vida’s Story. By the author of 

“ Guilty Without Crime ”. . . 10 

546 Mrs. Keith's Crime. A Novel . . 10 
571 Paul Crew’s Story. Alice Co- 

mynsCarr 10 

575 The Finger of Fate. Captain 

Mayne Reid 20 

581 The Betrothed. (I Promessi 

Sposi.) Allessandro Manzoni 20 

582 Lucia, Hugh and Another. Mrs. 

J. H. Needell 20 

583 Victory Deane. Cecil Griffith . . 20 

584 Mixed Motives 10 

599 Lancelot Ward, M.P. George 

Temple 10 

612 My Wife’s Niece. By the author 

of “ Dr. Edith Romney ” 20 

624 Primus in Indis. M. J. Colqu- 
houn 10 


The Unforeseen. Alice O’Han- 
lon 20 

The Rabbi’s Spell. Stuart C. 

Cumberland 10 

The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey 
Crayon, Gent. Washington 

Irving 20 

“ Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

Mrs. Molesworth 10 

The Mystery of Allan Grale. 

Isabella Fy vie Mayo 20 

Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 20 

The Philosonhy of Whist. 

William Pole 20 

Mrs. Dymond. Miss Thackeray 20 
A Singer’s Story. May Laffari. 10 
The Bachelor Vicar of New- 
forth. Mrs. J. Harcourt-Roe. 20 
Last Days at Apswich 10 

The Mikado, and Other Comic 
Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 

Sullivan 20 

The Woman I Loved, and the • 
Woman Who Loved Me. Isa 

Blagden 10 

A Crimson Stain. Annie Brad- 
shaw 10 

For Maimie’s Sake. Grant 

Allen 20 

Unfairly Won. Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

Lord Byron 10 

Mauleverer’s Millions. T. We- 

myss Reid 20 

My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 
Silvio Pellico 10 

The Autobiography of Benja- 
min Franklin 10 

Until the Day Breaks. Emily 

Spender 20 

Hurrish: A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. Fritz Reuter. 1st half 20 
An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. Fritz Reuter. 2d half 20 


Juliana Horatia Ewing 10 

How to be Happy Though Mar- 
ried. By a Graduate in the 

University of Matrimony 20 

Margery I)’aw 20 

The Strange Adventures of Cap- 
tain Dangerous. A Narrative 
in Plain English. Attempted 
by George Augustus Sala — 20 
Love’s Martyr. Laurence Alma 

Tadema 10 

In Shallow Waters. Annie Ar- 

mitt 20 

No. XIII; or, The Story of the 
Lost Vestal. Emma Marshall 10 
The Castle of Otranto. Hor- 
ace Walpole «... 10 


634 

641 

643 

654 

662 

668 

669 

675 

681 

683 

684 

692 

705 

706 

712 

718 

719 

723 

725 

730 

735 

748 

750 

750 

752 

754 

755 

756 

757 

759 

766 

770 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY — Pocket Edition. 


15 


773 The Mark of Cain. Andrew 

Lang 10 

774 The Life and Travels of Mungo 

Park 10 

777 The Voyages and Travels of 

Sir John Maundeville, Kt 10 

778 Society’s Verdict. By the au- 

thor of “My Marriage” 20 

780 Ethel Mildmay’s Follies. By 
author of “Petite’s Romance” 20 
793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 

Beaconsfield. 1st half 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 

Beaconsfield. 2d half 20 

801 She Stoops to Conquer, and 
The Good-Natured Man. Oli- 
ver Goldsmith 10 

803 Major Frank. A. L. G. Bos- 

boom-Toussaint 20 

807 If Love Be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 20 

809 Witness My Hand. By author 
of “ Lady Gwendolen’s Tryst ” 10 

810 The Secret of Her Life. Ed- 

ward Jenkins 20 

816 Rogues and Vagabonds. By 
George R. Sims, author of 

“ ’Ostler Joe” 20 

822 A Passion Flower. A Novel. . . 20 
852 Under Five Lakes. M. Quad. 20 
879 The Touchstone of Peril. A 
Novel of Anglo-Indian Life, 
With Scenes During the Mu- 
tiny. R. E. Forrest. . 20 

885 Les MisSrables. Victor Hugo. 

Part I. . .*. 20 

885 Les Mis6rables. Victor Hugo. 

Part II 20 

885 LesMisSrables. Victor Hugo. 

PartHI 20 

908 A Willful Young Woman. Alice 

Price 20 

913 The Silent Shore; or. The Mys- 
tery of St. James’ Park. By 

John Bloundelle-Burton 20 

915 That Other Person. Mrs. Al- 
fred Hunt. 1st half 20 

915 That Other Person. Mrs. Al- 
fred Hunt. 2d half 20 

917 The Case of Reuben Malachi. 

H. Sutherland Edwards 10 


919 Locksley Hall Sixty Years Af- 
ter, etc. By Alfred, Lord Ten- 
nyson, P.L., D.C L 10 

92C A Child of the Revolution. By 
the author of “Mademoiselle 

Mori ” 20 

921 The Late Miss Hollingford. 

Rosa Mulholland 10 

933 A Hidden Terror. Mary Albert 20 

937 Cashel Byron’s Profession. By 

George Bernard Shaw 20 

938 Cranford. By Mrs. Gaskell ... 20 
954 A Girl’s Heart. By the author 

• of “ Nobody’s Darling” 20 

956 Her Johnnie. By Violet Whyte 20 

964 A Struggle for the Right; or, 

Tracking the Truth 20 

965 Periwinkle. By Arnold Gray. 20 
96C He, by the author of King 

Solomon’s Wives”; and A 
Siege Baby and Childhood’s 
Memories, by J. S. Winter. . . 20 
970 King Solomon’s Wives; or. The 
Phantom Mines. By Hyder 

Ragged. (Illustrated) 20 

984 Her Own Sister. By E. S. Will- 
iamson 20 

992 Marrying and Giving in Mar- 
riage. By Mrs. Molesworth. 20 
994 A Penniless Orphan. By W. 

Heimburg 20 

1030 The Mistress of Ibichstein. By 

Fr. Henkel 20 

1034 The Silence of Dean Maitland. 

By Maxwell Gray 20 

1043 Faust. By Goethe 20 

1059 Confessions of an English 
Opium-Eater. By Thomas 

De Quincey 20 

1061 A Queer Race. By William 

Westall 20 

1072 Only a Coral Girl. By Gertrude 

Forde 20 

1081 Too Curious. By Edward J. 

Goodman 20 

1086 Nora. By Carl Detlef 20 

1092 A Glorious Gallop. By Mrs. 

Edward Kennard 20 

1107 The Passenger from Scotland 

Yard. By H. F. Wood 20 

1120 The Story of an African Farm. 

By Ralph Iron (Olive Schrei- 
ner) 2d 


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NO. PItICic. 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

432 THE WITCH’S HEAD. By 

H. Rider Haggard 20 

1156 A Witch of the Hills. By Flor- 

ence Warden 20 

1157 A Two Years’ Vacation. Illus- 

trated. By Jules Verne 20 

1158 My Poor Dick. By J. S. Winter. 10 

1159 Mr. Fortescue. An Andean 

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1160 We Two. By Edna Lyall 20 

1161 Red Ryvington. By William 

Westall. 1st half 20 

1161 Red Ryvington. By William 

Westall. 2d half. 20 

1162 The Weaker Vessel. By David 

Christie Murray ... 20 

1163 The Phantom City. A Volcanic 

Romance. By Wm, Westall. 20 

1164 Rob Roy. By Sir Walter Scott, 

Bart. 1st half 20 

1164 Rob Roy. By Sir Walter Scott, 

Bart. 2d half 20 

1165 The Sea-King. By Captain 

Marryat 20 


1166 The Betrothed : A Tale of the 
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of the Canongate. By Sir 
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1166 The Betrothed : A Tale of the 
Crusaders, and the Chronicles 
of the Canongate. By Sir 


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1167 Captain Contanceau; or. The 

Volunteers of 1792. By Emile 
Gaboriau 20 

1168 The Flight to France; or, The 

Memoirs of a Dragoon. A 
Tale of the Day of Dumouriez. 

By Jules Verne 20 

1169 Commodore Junk. ByG. Man- 

ville Fenn 20 

1171 A Heart’s Idol. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 

1172 India and her Neighbors. By 

W. P. Andrew 20 

1173 Won by Waiting. By Edna 

Lyall 20 

1174 The Polish Princess. By 1. 1. 

Kraszewski 20 

1175 A Tale of an Old Castle. By 

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1176 Guilderoy. By “Ouida” 20 

1177 A Dangerous Cat’s-paw. By 

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1179 Beauty’s Marriage; or, “What 

Some Have Found so Sweet.” 

By Charlotte M. Braeme 10 

1180 The Two Chiefs of Dunboj’’ : or, 

An Irish Romance of the Last 
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1181 The Fairy of the Alps. By E. 

Werner 20 

1182 The Reproach of Annesley. 

By Maxwell Gray 20 

1183 Jack of Hearts. A Story of 

Bohemia. By H. T. Johnson. 20 

1184 A Crown of Shame. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

1186 Guelda. A Novel 20 

1187 Suzanne. By the author of “A 

Great Mistake” 20 

1188 My Heart’s Darling. By W. 

Heimburg 20 

1189 A Crooked Path. By Mrs. Al- 

exander 20 

1190 CLEOPATRA: Being an Ac- 

count of the Fall and Venge- 
ance of Harmachis, the Royal 


Egyptian, as set forth by His 
Own Hand. By H. Rider 
Haggard 20 

1191 On Circumstantial Evidence. 

By Florence Marryat 20 

1192 Miss Kate; or, Confessions of 

a Caretaker. By “Rita” 20 

1193 The Fog Princes. A Romance 

of the Dark Metropolis. By 

Florence Warden 20 

1197 The Autobiography of a Slan- 
der, by Edna Lyall: and 
“ Jerry.”— “ That Night in 
June.”— A Wrong Turning. — 
Irish Love and Marriage. By 
the “Duchess.” 10 

1201 Mehalah. A Story of the Salt 

Marshes. By S. Baring-Gould. 20 

1202 Harvest. By John Strange 

Winter 20 

1206 Derrick Vaughan— Novelist. . . 10 


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